Paper Heart
by Tatau
Summary: AU. Vecchio never got replaced by Kowalski. Instead, Fraser tries to cope with loneliness and happens to make the acquaintance of RayK anyway. But something about Ray makes Fraser wonder if he can trust his senses…or if he has to trust his heart instead
1. Chapter 1

**Paper Heart - PILOT**

Author: Tatau

Disclaimer: Everything of due South is owned by Alliance Atlantis. Written for fun not profit.

Pairing: Fraser/RayK

Rating: NC-17 (overall. This chapter: PG)

Summary: AU in which Vecchio never got replaced by Kowalski. Instead, Fraser tries to cope with loneliness and happens to make the acquaintance of RayK anyway. But there's something about Ray that makes Fraser wonder if he can trust his senses…or if he has to trust his heart instead.

Words: ~ 4.950 (this chapter/50.000 overall)

Notes:Taking the magic realism of the 20th century to the next level ^^ WIP

**Thanks to Ride4Ever who did again a wonderful beta job :D  
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"Constable Fraser, there's a call for you – from Chicago."

It's been one week since this fateful moment.

"Listen, I'm just calling to let you know that I may not be there at the train to pick you up."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, why would anything be wrong? Just calling to let you know that I'd like to be there to pick you up, but that if I can't be there it's not 'cause I didn't wanna be, but because something came up."

"And you're sure everything is alright?"

"Look, Benny, I don't know if they have a similar thing up there in Canada, but down here in America we have this thing called 'friendship' and this is something a friend would do."

And Fraser's friend hadn't been there when he came back from holiday.

"Ah, Detective Huey, have you seen Ray?"

"Ray Vecchio?"

"Yes."

"Uh, no, no. Have you talked to Lieutenant Welsh?"

Fraser should've seen this coming, should've known what Ray had been trying to tell him.

"Ah, Constable, you've returned. Upon reflection, I imagine that pleases me. Listen, we gotta talk."

Fraser could still remember the nervousness and his rapid pulse inside of Welsh's office.

"There wasn't anything we could've done. Some things just have to happen. Listen," Welsh sighed unhappily, "Detective Vecchio has gone deep undercover with the mob."

Fraser nodded, not yet willing to fully realize what this meant.

"It's an open assignment, we don't know for how long. As long as he needs to be Armando Langoustini, 'the Bookman', he will be exactly that."

"What about his safety? Won't it be noticeable that he isn't working here anymore?" Fraser asked, trying to think practical, trying not to think about the loss of his friend.

Welsh nodded appreciatively. "Vecchio wasn't the most prominent face of this precinct, but we covered our tracks. As far as people know, he got transferred to the 19th precinct. A guy there has taken over his identity and answers the phone with his name. There isn't much more to it."

"I see." Fraser had answered, feeling calm and cold. Bereft of a friend. And now, on top of everything else, without any distraction beside his consulate duties.

"We might still find something to do for you, but we can't order anyone to liaise with you, you understand?"

Fraser cleared his throat. "Yes, ah, of course, Sir. May I… be dismissed?"

Welsh sighed. "Yeah, of course. Listen, show your face now and again and I'll let you know if there's anything new."

"I will."

One week, and Fraser was going out of his mind.

He hadn't realized how much Ray's presence had filled his life, how much his friend had filled this emptiness that had been growing inside of Fraser since he had come to Chicago – and maybe even before that.

The fact that his apartment had burned down wasn't even bothering him so much. It wasn't as if he had any friends to invite back to it anyway.

He didn't believe the story about the old fuses and the bad insulation, though. He was pretty sure that his apartment hadn't burned down on its own accord. Someone had done this. But he didn't have any proof and Huey and Dewey seemed to believe that it was merely Fraser's desolate state that made him yearn for a crime.

Fraser couldn't really argue with that, but he hadn't imagined the traces of perfume he had found in the ruins of his apartment building. His investigations hadn't gotten him very far yet, though.

Sitting behind his desk at the consulate, Fraser flicked through one of his father's journals. After a few pages he laid it back down and cradled his face in his hands. Dief gave a worried whimper.

Fraser raised his head and smiled tiredly at his companion. "I need something to occupy my evenings. Something to do. I—"

Dief raised himself up until his front paws touched the desk and with his muzzle he pushed the journal in Fraser's direction. Dief whined softly.

Fraser looked at the journal with a look of deep contemplation on his features. He had never considered keeping one himself. Maybe Dief was right, though. He needed an outlet for his emotions, a way to vent his frustration before he exploded.

Why not? There was no harm in writing about what was inside of him.

"Thank you, my friend." Fraser reached out and ruffled Diefenbaker's fur.

The next day, Fraser and Dief embarked on a long, aimless walk around the neighborhood. His shift had already ended and not even Inspector Thatcher had found anything else for him to do.

After hours of walking, he realized that they had ventured into a part of the city he had never explored on any of his previous walks. Run-down and dirty it was no wonder that this part didn't draw much attention for a leisure walk.

His stomach grumbled loudly and he winced deprecatingly. He had to take better care of himself, this wasn't the first time that he had forgotten to eat something since he had returned from his holiday.

He was just… he resisted the urge to shrug. He simply didn't have any appetite. He didn't have much of a drive towards anything lately.

There was a small shop at the corner; maybe he could get a recommendation or at least directions to a restaurant around here.

The badly smudged sign over the door read "Tennessee W. – Stationery". What a strange coincidence, Fraser thought.

Upon entering Fraser was surprised by the well-stocked shelves and the colourful assortment of paper, pens and other writing essentials. He had expected something a little… ah, less organized.

Dief went off on his own exploration while Fraser looked for a suitable notebook. A whole wall was stocked full with them. Notebooks of all sizes and in all colors filled the shelves.

Surrounded by all of these blank pages and the silent rustle of paper Fraser's heart felt immediately lighter.

He took a smallish red one in his hand. The cover was smooth and crisp and the pristine white sheets were covered with faint lines. With a smile, Fraser turned to go to the cash register when something caught his eye.

It was a small notebook. Lying on a lower shelf was a battered-looking notebook with a well-handled black leather cover. Curious, he picked it up. The first few pages had dog-ears and there was a faint scratch over the back cover. There were no lines or anything on the eggshell colored pages. The faint traces of glue from an old price tag were visible on the lower part of the front cover.

It looked… well, it looked a little rough around the edges. It looked bruised and as if it had its own story to tell. Fraser supposed that if the essence of Chicago were written on paper this was what it would look like. He smiled a little. Yes, this was Chicago in a nutshell.

Why not? Something about it appealed to him and without a second glance Fraser replaced the red, crisp notebook on the shelf.

He carried his treasure to the cash register. A smallish man with a well-worn, knitted sweater stood behind the counter, looking through his slightly dirty glasses with a curious expression when he saw what Fraser held in his hands.

"Interesting choice," he said in a soft voice.

"Ah, why is that?" Fraser asked and rubbed a knuckle over his eyebrow.

"It's the last of its line," he shrugged. "People didn't like it much."

Fraser raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why not?"

The man shrugged again with a secretive smile on his lips. "They said it was a funny one. I suppose it didn't work for everyone; you'll find out for yourself."

Fraser wanted to ask something else, but the man straightened and asked, "Anything else I can help you with?"

Fraser shook his head. He paid and left the shop with a thoughtful look upon his face. Only a block later did he realize that he had forgotten to ask the man about a nearby restaurant.

That evening Fraser sat down at his desk again and opened the black notebook. Dief lay curled in front of the cot as Fraser uncapped his pen with a soft smile.

The first sentence, however, took him by surprise. Only two little words. But two words he had had no intention of writing.

_I'm lonely. _

The ink dried quickly and Fraser was left staring at his own hand-writing. It was true, he supposed. And it must've been on the forefront of his mind.

Once started, he couldn't stop. His hand flowed over the page, filling the emptiness with his neat writing, word upon word crawling over the paper.

After a few pages, Fraser stopped. He felt drained. Empty but… lighter. His writing told of loss, he had held nothing back; how lonely he was, how much he missed his friend… but also how angry he was. He hadn't realized until now how very bitter he was, how angry he was at Ray for abandoning him like that.

And how guilty he felt about being so angry at his friend. His best friend. His only friend.

The last sentence came as no surprise to Fraser.

_I need a friend._

The next day, Fraser tried to make some progress in his investigation. There hadn't been that many fires after his apartment burned down; it should be possible to find another one in which perfume had been used as an accelerant.

He started with the most recent one and met Huey and Dewey on the scene. They told him, gently and probably very well-meant, that this wasn't Fraser's job. That they would let him know if they found anything.

Fraser swallowed his frustration. Everyone at the 27th was handling him with kid gloves. He missed his friend, he hadn't lost his mental faculties. The fire wasn't anything like the one at his apartment building though. He looked at his list. There had been a fire in the basement of the building where his book club met every month. That seemed like a good enough place to start.

He slipped through the warning tape on the door and looked around. The fire had been reported before the building could burn down completely so it was only the basement that had burned out.

It didn't appear as if his search was going to be successful though. The fire department had looked pretty thorough throughly the debris.

Suddenly, there was a clang in the next room and Fraser took a few quick steps in that direction. He thought he saw someone vanish through the doorway, but when he entered there was no one to be seen and it was dead quiet.

He was about to turn around when his boot caught something in the rubble that made a sound like a bottle rolling over the floor.

Fraser looked down and found the broken remains of something that might have been a perfume bottle at some point. Triumphant, Fraser straightened again and was about to pocket the glass shards when he heard another noise from the entrance hall.

He raced back and could have sworn that he just about saw the front door fall closed. In a second he was at the door and out on the street. He looked to the right and then to the left—there! A man with dirty-blond hair, wearing a beige trench coat was just turning the corner and vanished from sight.

Fraser started to run in his direction and Dief overtook him a split second later. When he rounded the corner, he found Dief looking at him in confusion. The man was nowhere to be seen.

Strange… it was… strange. If the man hadn't made that noise, Fraser knew he wouldn't have found that perfume bottle. And yet, the more he thought about it, the less sure he was if he had actually seen the man at all.

Back at the consulate Fraser tried to find the connection between the two fires. But apart from his own connection to both buildings and the perfume as accelerant in both cases he couldn't think of a possible motive or perpetrator.

Over the pages of his notebook, Fraser pondered this strange case and the stranger he thought he had glimpsed in the ruined building.

_I can't be sure that I really saw him_, Fraser wrote. _I think I saw a flash of experimental hair and the coat reminded me of an old movie I saw once; I think Steve McQueen wore one just like it. But my knowledge of movies is extremely limited and I might be wrong on this point. The coat was beige – or maybe it was gray. Actually, I am not sure if my memory serves me correctly. _

_It all happened so fast and even Diefenbaker couldn't find a trace of him after he vanished around that corner._

_Maybe it was all the excitement this newest development brought with it. It is a break from my monotonous days, I have to admit. I can't remember feeling so… real… at any point these last few weeks. _

_I just… I wished I could see that man again. _

Two days later, Fraser involuntarily overheard two women in the park talking. Diefenbaker was off chasing some ducks and Fraser had stopped in the shade of a few trees so as not to draw attention to himself.

Lately, he didn't do so well at deflecting the attention of strangers with quite as much grace as he would've liked.

A few feet away stood a bench on which two young women were talking quite animatedly.

"Yes, isn't it tragic?"

"The whole building you say?"

"Completely burned down to the ground."

Fraser couldn't help but tune in at this point.

"It was this morning, apparently. I saw the fire truck racing down the street as I was putting the trash out. My neighbor told me that it was something with the oven in that sandwich shop— you know, the one where that handsome Mountie went for his lunch break at least once a week?"

"No!" The friend shouted scandalized. "Did it have to be that one? I always went there when I saw Big Red in the area!"

The tips of Fraser's ears went red. That's what you get for eavesdropping, he thought.

"Exactly my thought! It must've been less than three hours ago; they're probably still busy cleaning it up. I hope no one got hurt."

Fraser didn't stay long enough to hear the end of the conversation. Instead, he took the shortest route to the mentioned sandwich bar.

The police and the fire department were indeed still busy with the charred remains of Fraser's favorite lunch haunt.

It was a different district so he didn't know any of the officers on the scene. His red uniform was noticed in an instant and the fire department wasn't at all happy about his involvement in the proceedings.

He managed to talk to a young officer who seemed more in awe of his uniform than concerned about Fraser's appearance on the crime scene.

"Excuse me, my name is Constable Benton Fraser—"

"You are the Mountie!" The youth's face broke into a grin. "Man, I've heard stories about you!—and you brought the wolf, that is _so_ cool."

"Half-wolf, actually. I was wondering if they found any perfume on the scene?"

"Perfume?" The young man frowned. "Why should anyone be looking for perfume?"

"I have the strong suspicion that it has been used as an accelerant for the fire."

The face of the man cleared up. "Hey, I think I heard of one of the fire department guys say that it didn't look as if the oven had _started_ the fire. Wait—I'll check if anyone's bagged and tagged anything that fits what you're looking for."

The young man looked through the list of evidence. "You're right—man, this is so cool. It says here 'broken bottle with vaporizer'… that could be a—"

"Anderson!" An angry voice hollered. The young man flinched.

"Thank you," Fraser said before he could get the man into more trouble.

When Fraser had reached the corner of the building, he thought he saw a man with blond hair get into one of the police cars. But before he had fully realized it, the car had already sped off.

And Fraser was left wondering if it had indeed been the same man again, the one he had seen at that other fire.

If it was him then he was apparently with the police.

Three fires. All at places with some connection to him. All started with the same perfume. There had to be a reason. Revenge was the most possible motivator. Someone bearing a grudge. Someone with a history of arson.

Fraser went back over his past cases with Ray and one name leaped out at him: Zoltan Motherwell. It was the only case of arson Fraser had worked on during his time in Chicago. Fraser thought back on Motherwell's verdict. He was still in prison.

They had put him in a straightjacket; they wouldn't release him earlier for good behavior. He was mentally instable.

Maybe it was a copycat. Or an avid admirer. An admirer worked better; it would explain why Fraser himself or locations with a connection to him were the target.

It was evidently not the goal to injure other people for all of the buildings had burned down during a time when no one was supposed to be inside. Well, except for his own apartment building, but no one had been hurt then either.

If the goal was to hurt him, though, the arsonist would soon up the ante. He or she couldn't be satisfied for long with these public buildings; they would go for something personal soon.

But what? The consulate? The Vecchio house?

Now that he thought about it he and Ray had been fairly regular at this sandwich shop. Probably every Thursday... except for... except for today, Fraser realized with a start. Because he had completely forgotten about it; without Ray here it had seemed pointless and... empty.

God... he was so alone.

Decisively, Fraser opened his notebook. It was almost a form of confession, a way to get this burden off his chest. Fraser thought he was beginning to understand why his father had been so diligent in keeping his notebooks.

_It is not the least bit humorous how alone one can feel in a city of several million. Chicago is the third biggest city of the US – one should think it would be hard to be alone here. But no one can make you feel alone like other people can. I have never been this alone in the vast remoteness of the Northwest Territories. Or the Yukon. Or Nunavut._

_In the vast open landscape of the Arctic tundra you are simply on your own – it's not loneliness if there are no people to miss._

_I never fit in anywhere. Even less so in Chicago... except for Ray; he made me feel welcome. He has always been my friend. But the rift his absence created is getting greater with each passing day. It's not for lack of attention, God knows I attract more than enough. Yesterday, a woman threw herself at me. It was embarrassing and very awkward for both of us. At least I am fairly sure that the young Miss will have felt deeply embarrassed about her spectacle afterwards. I don't need that kind of forceful attention. Can't something bring me together with someone for reasons that do not relate to my uniform or my looks or my nationality? _

Fraser put the pen down as sudden inspiration struck. That sandwich shop had burned down today because someone knew that Fraser went there every Thursday. That meant that someone must've been watching him for quite some time. And chances were that he was still being shadowed. Whoever was behind those crimes committed them out of some fixation related to him.

Tomorrow, he would get down to the bottom of this mystery.

Fraser had to suffer through one of the most frustrating days of his life. He had guard duty, a job to which he had little objection usually. Guard duty, however, meant that you had no other distraction save for what your own mind could come up with. And Fraser's was in a rather bleak state lately… spending hours inside of it was the last thing he wanted to do.

It also kept his possibility of surveilling his surroundings to a minimum. A few people were loitering near the consulate, but the guard duty always drew curious onlookers to waste their time standing around the premises.

Someone with a dog walked past several times, but there was nothing criminal in walking a dog around the same building more than once.

He checked the cars, but most of them were parked and only two of them moved at all during the time he was on duty. A few cabs passed the consulate – a cab would have been the perfect disguise, Fraser thought. But no license plate turned up more than once and none slowed down or even stopped.

After his guard duty ended, he was sent to collect the Inspector's dry cleaning. As far as he could tell, no one was following him. The frustration of urban tracking, Fraser sighed.

When he came out of the cleaner he paused. That blue van, hadn't that also been parked at the corner of the consulate this afternoon?

He set off, trying to glimpse the van in the reflection of the shop windows he passed. He almost thought he had been wrong when a limousine with tinted windows crossed the intersection and Fraser saw the reflection of the blue van a few vehicles behind. It could still have been a coincidence, but it was quite possible that he was being followed.

For a while, Fraser led the van aimlessly through the streets. It occurred to him, though, that he would need to get Inspector Thatcher's dry cleaning back to the consulate at some point if he didn't want to acknowledge that he knew he was being followed.

Once back at the consulate, Fraser's eyes widened when he saw a familiar bottle of perfume on the front desk. Adrenaline pumped through him as he rushed into his superior's office.

Inside, a man was kneeling in front of a small box containing various bottles of perfume.

"Dief!" Fraser shouted and before anyone could react, the wolf had pushed the strange man to the ground.

"Fraser!" The scandalized voice of the Inspector cut through the room.

"What—get your wolf off him!"

"Excuse me, do you know this man?" Fraser asked with a puzzled frown.

Inspector Thatcher rolled her eyes at him.

"Yes, this man happens to distribute perfumes; if that's not a crime you take offence at I wish that you release him this instant." The last two words were said in a clipped tone that brooked no argument.

"Dief, let him up," Fraser said quietly.

"Thank you," the Inspector said to him before she turned to the stranger on the floor. "I am terribly sorry, Sven. I don't know what has gotten into Constable Fraser, but I expect he will make a full report about this incident."

Inspector Thatcher's smile wasn't particularly friendly when she turned to Fraser again. "Constable, I have no idea why it is any of your business where I buy my perfume or from whom so I hope you'll have a good explanation for your behavior."

"Ah, yes sir. I have reason to believe that the consulate was the arsonist's next target."

"The arsonist?"

"Yes sir, it would appear that I am being stalked by a performance arsonist."

Inspector Thatcher seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment.

"…yes, that would qualify as an explanation."

Fraser nodded earnestly.

He needed another plan of action. He couldn't wait until the arsonist found his next target.

Fraser charged outside. He would force a confrontation. It was better to bring this conflict to an end before anyone got really hurt. With a purposeful stride, he marched in the direction where the blue van was parked at the curb.

He didn't know what he expected to happen, but when the engine roared to life and the car veered out of the parking space, he knew what he had to do.

He planted himself firmly on the road, intent on jumping onto the van the moment it came close enough.

The van accelerated in sudden flight and Fraser tensed all his muscles in preparation for the jump. You needed to get the timing just right. Too slow and the car would flatten you, too fast and the car would be too far away and you would end up jumping against the windshield.

The tires screeched as the van gathered speed. Fraser didn't know if the driver was indeed prepared to run him over or if it was sheer panic that was forcing this reaction.

5… 4… 3…. Urgh! Something collided with Fraser with full force. The air was knocked out of his lungs as his whole body was thrown out of the way of the moving car. Whatever it was must've approached him from his blind spot; he hadn't seen anything coming at him.

Fraser's body hit the concrete with a painful thud that was followed by an equally painful sounding 'oof'. The first thing Fraser's eyes could focus on was the van speeding past. The second was a blurry close-up of the man half lying on top of him.

"Are you insane?" The man shouted.

Fraser opened his mouth to explain that the man had just prevented him from arresting a dangerous performance arsonist.

"You know, I heard a lot of stories about you. 'The Mountie does crazy shit,' they said. And I said, 'that's alright, I'm kind of a wild card myself'. And then they said, 'hey, he talks to his wolf' and I said 'I got nothing against people who talk to animals,' well nothing in general anyway."

"Well, Diefenbaker does have an opinion on most things," Fraser felt the need to explain.

The stranger paused for a second. "Which I am willing to overlook."

"Thank you… I suppose."

The stranger broke into a sudden grin before his expression sobered once more. "But at no time did they say 'oh, by the way, the Mountie's got a soul that's desperate to evacuate his body. What the hell is wrong with you? You suicidal?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Fraser answered truthfully. He might have been a little more reckless than was his wont, but he hadn't tried to endanger his life at this particular moment.

The man seemed to relax slightly at that.

"Good, okay."

"Can I get up now?" Fraser asked unsure.

"Oh, heh, yeah." The man pushed himself up before offering a sinewy hand to Fraser.

Once Fraser was sitting up and wasn't quite so close to the face of his savior anymore, he took a good look at him.

"You're him!" Fraser exclaimed in sudden surprise.

"Who?" The man answered alarmed.

"The man from the burned out building. The man from the police force at the scene of the diner on Jackson Drive."

Another smile appeared on the stranger's face.

"Yeah, I was there. How do you know?"

"I was there, too. This van belongs to a—"

"Yeah, I know, I know. A crazy arsonist who was about to burn down the Canadian consulate."

Fraser stopped with his mouth already half-way open.

"Yes. How could you possibly know that?"

"Because there was a call. My district, my department, my phone – in fact, I even picked up the phone. And then someone told us that they were about to burn down the Canadian consulate for some weird ass reason."

"Ah," Fraser's head was reeling. "And you are?"

"Sorry," the stranger held out his hand. "I'm Ray. I'm with the 1-7, I don't think we've met before. Then again, the 2-7 is a bit out of the way for me."

Completely taken aback, Fraser took the offered hand. "You're called Ray?"

The man winced. "Well, Stanley Raymond Kowalski really, but no one dares calling me that."

"Your name is Stanley Kowalski? Just like in the Tennessee Williams' play?"

The stranger scowled. "You don't have to memorize it, okay? I go by Ray."

"Yes, of course. Nice to meet you. I'm Benton Fraser."

"Yeah, I know," the man grinned his disarming smile again. "Everyone's heard stories of the Mountie over at the 2-7. So, are you gonna tell me why you threw yourself in front of a van?"

Now it was Fraser's turn to look displeased. "I didn't throw myself in front of a van. I was trying to jump onto it. I wanted to prevent future fires on my behalf."

"The next time?"

"Yes?" Fraser asked confused.

"Don't listen to what the little voices are telling you." The man dusted himself off. "We're onto this. We have a pretty good idea what the substitute target will be, now that they didn't get to burn down the Canadian fortress."

"And what would that target be?" Fraser asked a little haughtily. The attitude of this detective wasn't the least bit courteous.

"I think you know it. It's the family home of a man named Vecchio."

Fraser couldn't have pretended not to know if he had tried.

"Yeah, thought this would mean something to you. What do you say, you wanna come with me check it out?"

"Yes—yes, certainly," Fraser said fervently.

"Greatness. Come on, my car is parked over there."

**TBC? To decide.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

_Words: ~ 5.070_

_Rating: PG_

_Notes: Thank you all for the tremendous support and the enthusiastic feedback on the pilot :-) You guys are honestly amazing. Therefore this story will be continued a chapter per week.  
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><p>During the drive to the assumed target, Fraser sneaked glances at his new companion. How could he not have been sure if he had seen this man when he had vanished around the corner? He was radiant, feral, a frenetic energy that filled the whole car.<p>

It would've been impossible to imagine that. Fraser took in the blond spikes, the metal bracelet around the wrist, the soft stubble around the mouth – yes, a vision so full of life it was hard to imagine it.

But something was off, something—

"Where's your partner?" Fraser asked suddenly and before he could stop himself.

A dark look flitted over Ray's features before he tried to conceal it with a casual shrug.

"Don't got one," Ray shrugged again. "I'm fine by myself, I work well alone."

Somehow, Fraser didn't quite believe that. Ray seemed to be a very open person, very expressive in his emotions, and rather impulsive. He couldn't picture that Ray would prefer to be alone. But it was hardly his place to question Ray on this point.

When they reached the house, there was already smoke curling out the windows.

Fraser was already halfway out of the car when Ray's words penetrated his focused mind.

"Look pal, I won't risk my neck for a burning building."

A wave of bitterness surprised Fraser and before he could help himself the words had fallen from his lips. "Ray Vecchio would." He said it quietly but determined, and he knew that it wasn't the blond Ray's fault that he wasn't Ray Vecchio. Fraser was just missing his friend.

"Fraser, I really can't."

But Fraser was already out of the car and on his way inside of the building. On the first floor, Fraser found Francesca and her brother-in-law and helped them to escape through the window.

Downstairs again, the fire department was already on the scene and about to enter the building. Fraser was met by Ray at the side of the building.

"Francesca, did you notice anything unusual?"

But Francesca was already shaking her head. Ray mumbled something about traces of perfume.

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry. Francesca, this is Detective Ray Kowalski." He gestured towards his new acquaintance. Francesca smiled hesitantly, but Ray was busy scribbling into his notebook and only looked up shortly to nod at her.

"Listen, Fraser, I know that this _thing_… with my brother… can't be easy for you, but it's really for the best. It'll get better, I'm sure of it. So if there's anything I can do…"

Fraser gave a tense shake of his head. Francesca was only trying to help, he knew that.

Once Francesca was out of harm's way, Ray and Fraser went over their options.

"I'd say we let someone look for that van. It must've driven off somewhere, so someone must've seen it."

Ray got out his cell and gave a description of the van and its license plate. A minute later he stowed his phone away with a satisfied smile.

"It's at the docks. Do you wanna find out why someone's got a beef with you? Although…" Ray grinned. "From the stories I've heard, I'd say there's more than one person you've pissed off in the past."

Fraser wanted to argue the point, but Ray couldn't stop laughing so Fraser gave up on it after a while.

They found the blue van parked directly at the lakefront. They got out and Fraser immediately realized their mistake.

The sound of a gun being cocked froze them right where they stood.

Behind one of the shipping containers, a woman emerged. Her hair was in disarray and she threw a half-smoked cigarette away as a pleased smile appeared on her face.

Fraser couldn't help but notice that there was a strange feverish glint to her hard eyes.

"He was a good man. A great artist." She said in a slightly unsteady voice. "You had NO RIGHT—" her voice rose in volume before she stopped abruptly.

The gun was trained steadily on Fraser's chest, and not for the first time did Fraser realize that he had to rely solely on the power of persuasion. Reasoning wasn't the most effective when the opponent wasn't all mentally there to begin with.

Ray had obviously taken a similar stand on this point for he didn't even seriously try to get her to surrender.

Horrified, Fraser realized that Ray was riling her up – was indeed stepping right in front of him. Before he could even open his mouth to ask what Ray thought he was doing, a shot rang out.

Ray staggered and collapsed to the ground in front of Fraser.

Completely on autopilot, Fraser jumped at the woman who looked strangely vacant, in a content, almost happy way. He bound her hands with his lanyard without encountering any resistance.

Shocked, Fraser knelt down next to the almost stranger who had risked his life to save him.

"Ray!" Fraser exclaimed and reached for Ray's chest to shake him. His fingertips brushed Ray's hand and he realized for the first time that Ray's fingers were covered in specks of ink, like those of someone used to a lot of hurried note-taking with a bad-working ballpoint pen.

It was a loveable trait, this carelessness. Fingers spattered with the residue of words.

"Ray," Fraser repeated a bit softer.

Ray scrunched his face up in a pained grimace. "Ouch," he gasped. His eyes flew open and he looked at Fraser with small grin.

"Don't worry. I'm wearing a vest." He sat up and, rubbing his chest, stood up with a slight wince.

"Are you sure you are alright, Ray?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah, think I would be telling you this and able to stand and breathe in front of you if I hadn't been wearing one?" He grinned.

"Yes, of course." Relief flooded through Fraser. How very foresighted of Ray.

Before the blue-and-white arrived to take their assailant into custody, Fraser managed to get the whole story out of the woman. How she had met Motherwell and how his 'art' had influenced her, how she had wanted to avenge him. The woman's name was Greta Garbo.

And in a way, Fraser felt as if he had solved a case. With his partner. With this other Ray.

"Ray, would you like to get something to eat with me?" They had reached Ray's car. Fraser was quite unwilling to let this meeting come to an end already. A shy smile spread over Ray's features.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

It was the first night in which Fraser didn't feel the need to write in his notebook. He smiled softly and placed it into the drawer of his desk.

He felt almost happy. No one could replace Ray Vecchio and he was still worried for his friend and he still missed him, but Ray Kowalski was a good man. Someone who seemed to be very loyal very quickly if Fraser thought back on how Ray had saved his life twice in the course of a day.

…well, technically the first time Ray hadn't saved him, but Ray hadn't known that Fraser hadn't been in any danger.

Fraser was… he was glad that he met Ray Kowalski.

Maybe he should've asked Ray for his phone number or at least his address. Maybe they could've gotten together again, Fraser wondered two days later. He had neither heard nor seen anything of the impulsive man.

And even though Fraser wasn't so sure about his ability to judge other people's characters, not after what had happened… but that wasn't important right now, he was pretty sure that he had not failed in his assessment of Ray Kowalski. It helped to know that Dief had liked him, too, almost immediately even. He had only left Ray's ear alone after the detective had enunciated very clearly that he did not appreciate the attention the wolf bestowed upon his ear.

Fraser smiled fondly. Such a prickly character, this Ray.

Unconsciously, Fraser realized that he was spending more of his free time in a different area of town. An area that just happened to belong to the 17th precinct. His subconscious must've guided him here in the hope of meeting Ray again.

His day passed uneventfully though.

With a heavy heart, Fraser pulled his notebook out again that night. He looked a little sadly at the battered cover. Writing did help, but it was no substitute for companionship. Dief brushed against his leg.

"No, I know," Fraser smiled at the half-wolf. "You're a good companion." He just missed human companionship despite his lupine friend.

_Why am I confined to Chicago of all places? Is this the worst punishment they could think of? Is the past so hard to atone for? _Fraser gripped the pen harder in sudden anger. _Should I have left things unacknowledged? How has lying ever helped anything? Even knowing what good it did me, I would do it exactly the same way again. _

He took a deep breath to calm himself. _It is our past decisions that form who we become. I know why I am here and I know that I will be here for an indefinite amount of time longer. Even here I carry my past with me. Every time I introduce myself, to justify my being here, I tell people that I came here on the trail of the killers of my father. _

_Is that who I am? I don't think it is, but it is the reason why I ended up here. And I suppose it says something about my character after all. I ended up here because I couldn't let things rest. I have to stay here because I couldn't step down from what I believed to be right. In a way, I indeed tell people something vital about me when I tell them the story of how I came to be in Chicago. Someone who can't let go of the past. Someone who can't let an injustice pass by unpunished – even at the cost of my own happiness. Someone who left his home for a lone manhunt on the trail of someone long gone. Why was I even surprised that Ray Vecchio had to leave? I should've known it. It's my punishment. I think we are all haunted by our past; we carry it around with us on our backs, unable to get rid of it. Mostly, we are simply good at ignoring it. I… I want to see. I don't want my past to design my future._

The day after, the Inspector dismissed him early to 'make sure there was nothing to interfere with her meeting with an interior designer for the renovation of the conference room'. He wasn't sure if his superior officer had tried to insinuate that he himself was a possible hindrance for the renovations, but he took his leave without protest anyway.

He took Dief for another long walk only to realize after a while that he had again ventured into a part of town he had seldom visited before he met Ray. They passed a graveyard gate and on a whim, Fraser decided to enter.

The solitude of a cemetery had always been consoling to Fraser. The quiet fit there, it was peaceful. He walked along the row of tombstones until he came across a little crypt – for a second he thought he saw a movement behind the iron railings of the window.

Intrigued, Fraser drew closer. It had rained this morning, showing clearly two sets of fresh footmarks leading to the door. But only one pair of feet had walked back. The other pair must have entered the crypt.

He tried the door and it opened almost noiselessly to the push of his hand. His eyes adjusted quickly to the near dark. A sense of excitement washed over him as he moved noiselessly over the stone floor. The stained-glass windows threw a strange half-light into the crypt.

For a second, he caught the glimpse of blond hair right behind the statue of a mourning angel. In a flash, the coat whipped around and vanished from sight.

Cautiously, he approached the window. The red and blue of the stained-glass painted patterns on the floor. The moment he passed the statue, someone moved from the shadows and pointed a gun at his head in one swift motion.

"Hello, Ray," Fraser couldn't quite contain a small smile.

The blond man released the breath he had been holding and shook his head. "You do have a death wish, you know that Fraser?"

Fraser just smiled again.

"Are you on a stake-out?"

"So what if I am?"

Fraser looked keenly at his new acquaintance. Ray sounded defensive, so whatever had brought him here was probably personal rather than professional.

"Maybe I could be of assistance," Fraser offered, feeling immediately foolish. He had no jurisdiction here and Ray was a capable officer, what good could his help do?

But Ray relaxed and showed him another one of his tentative smiles. "Yeah sure, I could use someone to help me pass the time."

Fraser sat down next to Ray. "What are you investigating then?"

"The reason I became a cop."

Fraser waited for more to follow, but Ray didn't say anything more.

"Have you ever been married?" Ray asked quite unrelatedly.

"Ah, no. I haven't… I have come to the conclusion that I am not made for married life."

Ray smiled at that. "See, apparently, me neither. At least if you asked my wife."

Fraser was confused. "I take it you and your wife had a row?"

Ray's smile widened into a grin, but his amusement didn't reach his eyes.

"You could say that. She's my ex-wife now."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

Ray shrugged again in that self-deprecating way he had. With a sigh, he stood up and went to look out of the window again.

"It was bound to happen."

"Why do you say that?"

"'cause I'm a fake. I was a con-job then and I'm a con-job now."

Fraser shook his head in bewilderment.

"Look, you might think I'm this skinny guy with the experimental hair and the job at the 1-7. But that's not who I really am. It's important that you remember that," Ray said, looking seriously at Fraser. "I'm a guy who, when he was 12 years old, pissed his pants during a bank robbery, a guy whose ex-wife was also there and thought – for all of her life – that he did it so that she could get away."

Ray sighed and gestured aimlessly around the crypt. "I'm a guy who's never himself—I… I've worked undercover most of my life. I'm the guy people need me to be. It's… Fraser, I'm just one big lie, you can't believe me."

"Ray—" Fraser frowned. He had never met anyone who wore his heart on his sleeve like Ray did, no one more blatantly himself… didn't it take someone who knew himself very well to become someone else?

A high-pitched wail interrupted him. Astonished, both men looked at each other. As if of one mind, they raced outside. There, near the big birch tree, stood a young girl of maybe six years of age who was crying in an intensity one might think heaven was about to fall down.

Ray stopped and looked completely at a loss now. He pocketed his gun again and looked at Fraser for pointers.

"Uh… hey there," Ray tried for introductions. The child stopped for a micro-second to look at him before she broke into renewed howling.

"Jesus…" Ray muttered.

"Yo-ho-hou," the child hiccupped, "a-a-a-re not m-m-m-y m-o-m-my."

"No, but we're the police," Ray tried again. The child looked suspiciously at him for a second. As if she had forgotten that she should be crying, the wailing started again.

Ray sighed.

"He really is a detective. And I am a Mountie," Fraser explained gently. The child's mouth dropped open. "A real one?" All tears were apparently forgotten at the sight of Fraser's red uniform.

Fraser nodded.

"Can you help me find my mommy?"

"Certainly."

Ray sighed again. "I should've known that you take all of this 'keep the citizens safe so that they can tuck their children in at night' serious."

Fraser was affronted. "Of course I do. Don't you?"

Ray looked comically at him for a moment before he shook his head bemused. "You're something else, Fraser."

Ray looked at the child. "Did you come here with your mother?"

The child pushed her chin out. "You're a bozo. My mother said I'm not allowed to talk to bozos."

Ray gnashed his teeth and Fraser had to smother a smile. "Detective Kowalski is only trying to help. Can you tell us if your mother brought you here?"

The child nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, we came here to visit grandma. But then I found this—" the girl pulled a dream-catcher out of her pocket. "It was lying on one of the gravestones. And I wanted to see if it could fly, because it's got a feather, you see?" To prove her point, she held the dream-catcher at the feather attached at the bottom.

"What's that?" Ray interrupted the child's tale.

"It's a dream-catcher. It's supposed to entangle bad dreams," Fraser explained.

Ray looked thoughtful.

"And? Did it fly?" He asked the girl. The girl hesitated for a second before a grin split her mouth wide. "It flew really well."

"And when you retrieved it you couldn't find your mother again?"

The girl's chin began to wobble with renewed anxiety. "No," she hiccupped.

"Can you tell me your grandmother's name?" Fraser asked gently.

"Yes, Gladys."

Ray rolled his eyes at her. "Gladys what? She got another name?"

The girl raised herself up haughtily. "Grandma Gladys."

"Oh, that's really helpful."

Fraser thought it safer to interrupt the discussion. "Can you tell me your name?"

"I'm Mary Caunce."

"Nice to meet you, Mary. My name is Constable Benton Fraser, this is Detective Ray Kowalski, and over there, at the statue of the dog, is Diefenbaker, he is half-wolf."

Mary gave a cry of delight and took off in the direction of Dief.

Ray gave Fraser a look torn between exasperation and fondness. "So, how are we gonna find her mother?"

"Oh, I have a good memory for names. I passed Gladys Caunce's grave on my way to the crypt. The dream-catcher must've flown quite well if it took her so far. I believe her mother will be looking for her around there."

They fetched Dief and Mary and followed the path about halfway back to the entrance. From the distance, Fraser could make out a woman looking hurriedly around, obviously searching for someone.

He took Mary onto his shoulders. "Is that your mother over there?"

Mary gave a shout. "YES! MO~MMY!" She called out.

The woman looked up and raised her hand to her chest in relief. She came running across towards them.

"Thank you so much. How did you find her?" The mother asked breathlessly. She looked at her daughter with a stern gaze. "Mary Ellen Caunce, how often do I have to tell you that you have to stay close?"

"Ah M'am, I'm sure she meant no harm. Your daughter found a dream-catcher and followed its flight. We met her near the crypt and promised to bring her back."

"God, I can't thank you enough."

"It's alright," Ray assured her.

The woman couldn't tear her eyes away from Fraser. He pulled at his collar. "No thanks are necessary, I assure you."

The woman smiled and took her daughter by the hand.

Once they were a safe distance off, Ray turned to Fraser with a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, I always wanted children. My wife Stella and me, we used to fight about it. Looking back, I don't know why I wanted kids. I'm really not good with them. I don't even like them all that much."

Fraser bit his lip. He considered keeping quiet on this point, but Ray had been brutally honest with him today, he deserved Fraser's opinion.

"Maybe the children were just a metaphor."

"For what?"

"I don't know. Security perhaps?"

Ray thought about that for a while. "Yeah, maybe you're right. It didn't matter in the end anyway."

They were almost back at the crypt now.

"Ray, I hope you don't mind me asking, but what exactly is it that you're hoping to accomplish here today?"

Ray smiled. "I'm commemorating an anniversary."

Fraser raised his eyebrows at that explanation. "An anniversary? I thought you said you were investigating the reason that made you become a police officer."

"Exactly." Ray stopped in front of a gravestone that was decorated with fresh flowers and a lit candle.

The inscription read "Marcus Ellery." The day of his death was today a few years ago.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Fraser said to Ray.

"Marcus Ellery was the guy who robbed that bank when I was a kid. That day, I promised myself I'd become a cop. A few years ago, there was another bank robbery. I was a rookie, but me and my partner, we took the call. I cornered him, everything was under control. Marcus Ellery was about to drop his gun, when the sirens went off outside. It was just our back-up. He panicked and ran. My partner shot him in the back. He had almost reached the door handle. The bullet hit him deep in the spine. He died later in the hospital." Ray was quiet for a second before he continued. "His gun wasn't even loaded."

"Ray…"

"Every year I come here to remind myself what kind of person I am. What kind of cop I don't wanna be. But everyone's some mother's son—see the flowers and the candle? That's from his mother. So I wait until she's gone. She blamed me for the death of her son, which is fair, I guess. She's probably right, just like my wife. A con-job, like I said."

"You're a good man, Ray. And I'm sure your wife saw beyond that one incident and saw the whole person."

"What do you mean?"

"In December 1988, a young boy was being held in a warehouse. You went in, even though you knew your cover had been blown. You drew fire, you were wounded, and yet you managed to rescue the boy – your first citation."

"Hey, how do you know that?"

"Oh, well, I looked through your files."

"You're a real nosey-parker, aren't you?"

"I wanted to know what kind of person I would be proud of calling my friend."

Ray's gaze zeroed in on Fraser's. "What was that last part?" He asked quietly.

"Friend."

Ray smiled. "Lend me some money?"

"Friends and money don't mix, Ray."

Ray snorted and placed the dream-catcher he had neglected to return to Mary on Ellery's grave.

"Come on, I'm finished here. Any place I could drop you off?"

Back at the consulate, Fraser made tea and opened his notebook again. Since he met Ray it seemed important to make a note of everything that had occurred. Fraser knew that it was foolish to believe that a transcript of the events would help his brain to remember the moment. In a year, those entries would no longer recall the events themselves. He would read them like a stranger would, with no emotion or visual recollection to accompany them.

But right now, he felt it was his duty to remember as much as possible. There was something about his newfound friend that Fraser wanted to never forget. It was more a vague feeling than anything Fraser could put his finger on. It seemed all the more important for that to put his experiences into writing.

_This was how Ray Kowalski became my friend. I think that Ray understands very well how much power the past has on us; it seems like he spent his lifetime escaping his past. He's a very brave man and I believe that he has left his past well behind him already – well, save for his ex-wife possibly. But this seems to be quite the fresh wound so I can only hope that he will heal with time. I would like to meet the woman who had the courage to walk away from him. No doubt will she be a formidable woman. No other than someone very headstrong and self-assured could capture this man so completely, I'm sure of it._

_Ray's talk about family and children reminded me again how very agreeable such a plan is. Make a home, found a family, raise children. I, who was never at home somewhere very long, am longing to come home sometime. I can understand Ray, wanting children to assure himself that his home, his family, would always be there. I envy his courage to create something permanent. I am too afraid to even grow roots. I never settled down anywhere. I still don't. I've never made a home. I've never come home to someone._

Fraser stared at the page he had just written. Suddenly, he had a lump in his throat. What had Ray said? He was a liar. Yes. And so was Fraser.

_Okay… I did make a home with someone. Maybe it was the devastation of that that burned me for future experiences. Once bitten, twice shy. Isn't that what people say? But I don't want to think about her tonight. This entry was supposed to be cheerful. _

Fraser read what he had written so far. Oh dear. 'Cheerful' wasn't exactly the word he'd use to describe it. Maybe that's what the shop owner meant when he said that it didn't work for everyone? It seemed to draw the dark thoughts out of Fraser's head… his life had brightened since he had begun writing in the black notebook, though.

From that day on, Fraser saw Ray more and more often. Looking back over his accumulated journal entries, he and Ray had run into each other again and again.

There had been the case of Janet Morse, the bounty hunter who had come to him for help. During one of their pursuits, Fraser had met Ray on a similar goose chase and they decided to pool resources.

And then a few days later, Fraser went to watch one of the boxing fights that were sponsored by one of the youth programs of the neighborhood. No one was more surprised than Fraser to learn that Ray had coached one of the young men himself. The resulting death of one of the fighters and the gang activity afterwards wasn't a very nice chapter, but Ray had proven to be exceptionally true to his beliefs, even if that meant accepting a truth he rather wouldn't have faced.

Fraser had been very proud of his friend for solving this case.

The rate with which his notebook grew in written pages was also alarming. At that rate he would rival his father in a few years' time.

_Ray is so very different from myself. Where I am reason, he is instinct. Where I rush in he hesitates; whereas he is hot-blooded where I am rational. We make quite the pair I believe, and more than once did I wonder what Ray Vecchio would make of him. I'm sure they would get along fine; they are both outspoken, honest, and caring men. _

_I'll go by the 27th in the next few days in the hope that Lieutenant Welsh has some news for me. But I don't hold out much hope for any news from Ray Vecchio. I think the less I hear, the safer he is._

_There's still so much that I don't know about the other Ray, but I am grateful to call him my friend. We've been seeing a lot of each other lately and I have to admit that I enjoy his company very much. I think he holds my own company in much the same esteem for he does not appear to have many friends or social dates either. I really don't understand that; he is far from being a solitary character. _

_Then again, I would be lying if I said that I wasn't happy about Ray's rather free schedule. Part of the reason for Ray's free time is probably his divorce. As he put it, his wife 'got' most of their friends when he moved out. I'm still very curious about Stella Kowalski. His talk of her is very fond, despite their separation. _

_I think it must be even lonelier after you have been used to sharing your life with someone. Ray doesn't like to talk about it, even though I would like to help._

A few days later, Fraser was going for a walk with Dief when he noticed a beautiful couple on the other side of the road.

She was radiant, fair with honey-colored hair and a fragile-looking summer dress, and he looked important and self-assured in his gray suit. Afterwards, Fraser wasn't sure what happened first. He knew that he recognized Ray's car, but a second later he saw a hooded figure with a gun leaning over one of the cars further down the road. And then everything happened at once. Ray leaped out of his car and ran at full speed towards the woman and Fraser realized at almost the same time that he was too slow to actually stop the gunman and instead ran in the direction of the well-dressed man to pull him out of the line of fire.

A shot rang out, but when Fraser looked around he found Ray, and the woman, her romantic companion, as well as himself on the ground, unhurt.

The woman stood up and threw Ray a nasty glare. Ray looked immediately abashed. At least the gentleman in the expensive suit looked just as confused as Fraser felt.

"Stella, are you alright?" The smooth baritone of the man cut through the confusion. Fraser's head snapped towards Ray.

Stella brushed the dust of her dress and motioned towards Ray as well. "Frank, this is my ex-husband, Ray."

Ray tried to smile, but it looked rather painful. Alderman Frank Orsini did quite a good job at a jovial handshake though.

Fraser himself was still staring at the young woman in the violet dress. This was Stella Kowalski? Somehow he had expected someone… warmer.

Maybe Ray and he had more in common when it came to women than he had thought so far.

**TBC. Stay tuned for the next episode on Friday 20th**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

Words: 5.510

Rating: PG-13

The first time Fraser saw Ray sitting in a café with a cup of already stone-cold coffee he wasn't drinking in front of him, he thought it might have been a coincidence that Stella and the Alderman were eating at the restaurant on the opposite side of the street.

A day later, Fraser was feeling very confident that Ray hadn't chosen the same bar by accident. For even though Ray looked very fitting in his light suit Fraser didn't believe for a second that this was a location Ray would've chosen himself.

No, it was obvious that Ray was following his ex-wife and her new romantic interest. Even though the police, Huey and Dewey even, had taken over the case of the shooting and the Alderman had added two more bodyguards to his security service.

Stella was sitting at the counter on one of the tiny chairs with a golden cocktail at her elbow. She was laughing at something Orsini had said and Fraser had to admit that she was a radiant young woman.

Her poise and quiet self-assurance only heightened the beauty of her smooth features. Her skirt and blazer were impeccable and the highlights in her hair caught the light in an enticing luster.

He saw Ray gripping the neck of his beer bottle tighter. Quietly, Fraser approached his newfound friend.

"May I join you?" he asked gently.

Ray didn't look surprised at Fraser's appearance in the bar. Well, Ray was a detective. He had probably noticed Fraser's entrance ages ago. Ray's keen mind was way too observant – especially during a surveillance such as this – not to have noticed a face as familiar as his.

With a small sigh Ray looked up and raised the bottle to his lips. He took a quick pull from the beer and set the bottle back down on the table again; the condensation left a wet stain on the polished black glass of the table.

"What are you doing here, Fraser?"

That was a good question actually. Fraser supposed he had glimpsed something of himself in Ray, something that had led him to believe that Ray wouldn't be able to let his colleagues from the 27th handle the situation. Fraser had known instinctively that Ray wouldn't let it rest – no, not instinctively. It was pure logic, really. It was obvious that Ray still loved his ex-wife and his protective nature made it a probably assumption that he would want to ensure her safety above the call of duty… or despite his orders.

It had been a mere unconscious impulse on Fraser's part. He had very good ears and even though it hadn't been his intention to eavesdrop he couldn't help overhearing the plan of the couple to go out for dinner to a certain little Italian restaurant after the incident of the shooting.

Without any conscious thought, Fraser had passed that restaurant a few hours later… only to find Ray in his car, parked at the corner, hardly visible from the window of the restaurant – not when you weren't looking for him… not like Fraser was.

And from there it had developed into a pattern. Ray followed Stella Kowalski to keep her safe and Fraser followed Ray Kowalski to….

He didn't know. To protect Ray in a way… from getting his heart even further broken, from watching his childhood sweetheart falling in love with someone else… maybe to shield Ray from the inevitable outburst of annoyance that would follow once Miss Kowalski found out that her ex-husband was following her around.

"I thought you might want some company," Fraser said instead. A short, fierce smile flitted over Ray's face.

"Thanks," he murmured and kicked the chair out from underneath the table so that Fraser could sit down.

The patron at the next table, a lady in a fashionable dress with an unholy amount of both lipstick in a vivid scarlet and jewels on every part of her body that wasn't covered in expensive white fabric, threw an annoyed glance at them.

Fraser apologized to the lady, but Ray only winked at him and hid his smirk behind his beer bottle. Fraser sat down and considered his friend for a moment.

"You look very fetching, Ray."

Ray smiled crookedly at him.

"You didn't turn out so bad yourself."

Fraser was puzzled for a moment, looking down at himself, because he wasn't even wearing his uniform. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ray's smile getting more prominent and he realized that being out of uniform was exactly what Ray meant.

"Ah, thank you. I'm glad you think so."

Ray nodded generously, trying to rein his smile back in.

Fraser looked around and turned serious again.

"Are you expecting trouble?"

Ray's mouth set into a tight line. "Yeah…" he lowered his voice and angled his head closer to Fraser's. "Do you have any idea who he is?"

"Ah," Fraser rubbed his eyebrow, flicking a glance at the Alderman. "A politician with good chances of winning the next election, if my memory serves me correctly."

Ray nodded. "But that's not all. He's got this big real estate project going – it's gonna be one of those big, artsy glass and steel buildings with lots of expensive condos and what-have-you. Thing is, it's gonna put a lot of people out of their homes, it's— it's a cheap neighborhood, Fraser. People can't afford the kind of apartments he has in mind."

"And you think the opponents of this project are behind the shooting?"

Ray was quiet for a moment. He looked intently at the green glass of his beer bottle. Whatever was bothering him was bigger than a group of political activists.

"Don't you think it's awfully convenient? The shooting, I mean. Here we have Orsini who made a lot of enemies with his fancy project and suddenly, just a few weeks before the election, he turns out to be the victim of an assault? Attempted murder even? Who do you think people will believe did it?"

Fraser's mind was firing on all cylinders trying to keep up with Ray's mercurial jumps of reasoning. "The project's opponents."

Ray smiled grimly. "Naturally." He trailed a path through the wet condensation beading on the cool glass of his drink. Suddenly, Ray's gaze was fixed on Fraser. Unconsciously, Fraser swallowed around a suddenly dry throat.

"Isn't it funny that it would turn the majority against the protesters? Why should they shoot him? It wouldn't help them one bit."

Fraser thought he saw the direction his friend's thoughts were going.

"What are you saying Ray?"

"That Orsini is the only one who profits from this stunt."

It wasn't unheard of. The unspoken rule of advertising: There's no such thing as bad publicity. Still… it was also very easy to see where Ray might have gotten that idea from. His antagonism towards the Alderman was palpable, and it probably wasn't born out of political interest on Ray's part – though it might have further fuelled Ray's dislike.

It was, however, more probable to assume that Ray's objection to Frank Orsini stemmed from Orsini's involvement with Stella Kowalski. Rivalry, especially in matters of the heart, was an all too common motivator.

Ray did have a point, though. Orsini was indeed the only one who benefitted from this latest attack on his person.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the counter. A woman screamed and a glass shattered on the floor with a high ping, showering the floor in a myriad of glass shards.

The moment the scream resounded around the room, Ray was out of his seat and moving. He was at Stella's side in less than a heartbeat.

"Stell, is everything alright?"

Stella nodded, trying to catch her breath. She was a little pale, but she seemed to rein herself back in with supreme self-control.

"What happened?" Fraser asked.

"I saw," Stella took a deep breath to compose herself. "In the mirror, I saw a man with a gun. But when I turned around he was gone."

Ray frowned.

"Did you see him as well?" Fraser asked the Alderman.

Orsini shook his head slightly hesitantly. "I thought, but… no. I don't believe I saw anything."

Asking around didn't bring any more information to light. Stella appeared to be the only one to see the armed man.

Stella was a remarkably controlled woman who either had nerves like steel or a will of ice. As soon as the immediate danger had passed, she fell back into her role as Assistant State's Attorney – when Ray had told him of Stella's profession Fraser hadn't been able to repress the thought how much pain it must've caused his friend to continue a working relationship after their romantic relationship had fallen to shambles.

"Ray, not that I am ungrateful for your assistance – but what are you even doing here?" Stella asked and there was a sting to her voice.

"Uh, I was… just showing Fraser here around a little."

Stella's eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. Apparently, despite all his undercover work, Ray wasn't very good at fooling his ex-wife.

"Frank, could you see me home?"

"Of course—gentlemen, if we're finished here?"

Ray nodded tersely. Fraser could see the tendon at the side of his throat jump.

Well, there was nothing else they could do. They turned to go when Fraser noticed something strange about the remains of Stella's cocktail on the floor.

Carefully, Fraser lifted one of the bigger chunks of glass. He sniffed at the remaining liquid. Hm. He flicked his tongue out and tasted a drop.

Ray made a choking noise next to him. "Fraser, put that down. That is disgusting!"

Fraser stepped up to the counter to speak with the bartender.

"Excuse me, who made the golden cocktail the woman who just left ordered?"

"I really couldn't say, sir. It wasn't me, but that's not too unusual. There are at least two people tending the bar at any given time and most of the waiters know how to mix a cocktail."

No, Fraser thought. That wasn't at all unusual. What was unusual, though, was that _no one_ remembered mixing that cocktail.

"Why? What is it?" Ray asked impatiently.

Fraser cracked his neck. "Nothing, I was just making sure that we've covered all angles before we leave."

Ray nodded slowly. "Okay, good. Come on, let's get outta here."

Back at the consulate, Fraser welcomed Dief and sat down at his desk. He pulled at the collar of his uniform before he finally opened his notebook. His neat handwriting was already filling page after page. There was something soothing about pouring your soul into writing. It felt taken care of, as if matters had reached a destination in some way. Yes, a way to distance yourself from your own thoughts. You could give them life, for the duration of the pages.

_I have a confession to make._ Fraser's pen was poised over the paper. _I lied. At that time I believed it was for the best – I didn't want to cause unnecessary torment. I'm not sure if it was wise, though. He would've deserved the truth. Being spared ultimately causes more pain than knowledge ever could. But how could I have told Ray that I think the target isn't Alderman Orsini? I believe it's Stella Kowalski. I still can't be entirely sure, which was the reason I didn't tell Ray. Consider I was wrong? The anguish I would've caused him would have been unforgivable. _

_And yet I think it's true. I don't think this is a PR campaign. _

_I am not sure if there really was a man with a gun in that bar tonight. But there was definitely something in Miss Kowalski's drink. There were traces of a white powder, very faint, but they clung to the glass shards where it didn't have time to dissolve yet. The fact that no one remembers making that cocktail is also highly suspicious. The remains were too little to say anything definite about the ingredient used, but I believe it was toxic and I am confident that Miss Kowalski wouldn't have survived finishing that drink. Whatever she saw or imagined she saw, maybe caused by the drug in her drink, saved her life._

_But if that's true than she is still in danger. And it isn't the Alderman who needs enforced protection. It is really for the best that she left with him tonight for I believe that she will be safe for as long as he and his security guards are there to keep an eye out._

_There is a missing piece to this puzzle and one that will be hard to find without confiding in Ray or in Stella herself: who would have a reason for killing her? Or better yet, what possible reason could someone have? If I knew that, I'm sure it would be remarkably easy to find the culprit. _

_Do I tell Ray about my suspicions? Can I trust that he will look beyond his heartache and his hurt to stay objective in this? Would he even believe me, relieved as his heart feels at thinking that he can bring Orsini down and with that keep him away from Miss Kowalski? Oh Ray, I wish I knew if you are as fool-hearted when it comes to love as I am. You and I, we are the same in love, I fear. You would ruin your life over her... but this is a matter of saving her... what is the best solution? Can I trust you?_

When Fraser opened the doors of the consulate the next morning, he found Ray standing right in front of him with his hand already lifted to knock.

"Uh, hi," Ray greeted him surprised.

"Good morning, Ray."

It was evident from Ray's tense posture that he was extremely agitated.

"Fraser," Ray said and then didn't follow it with anything.

"Ray," Fraser gestured Ray inside.

"Listen, we need to act about Orsini."

Fraser frowned. "In what sense?"

"What do you mean 'in what sense'? In the sense of bringing him up on charges, what do you think? And if I have to grill the snot out of him myself, we need to get him to confess that this is all a media hoax—"

"Ray—"

"Stella spent the night there, okay?"

"Ray—"

"No, trust me she did. When it comes to the dating habits of the Stella, I happen to be an expert. What if something goes wrong, huh? What if Stella gets hurt because of it? We need to get her out of there, I don't care if I have to drag her out of his fancy house myself—"

"Ray!"

"What?"

"He isn't behind the attacks."

"He—what?" Ray looked at Fraser as if Fraser was one hole short of a Swiss cheese.

Fraser bit his lip. He had known that it wasn't prudent not to share his thoughts with Ray before. He needed to trust Ray.

"I believe that Stella is the target."

"What? No way—" Ray shook his head vehemently. But Fraser supposed that it was more a gesture of denial than an actual founded belief. "Why should anyone... who'd dare..."

"That's what we have to find out."

"No, Fraser, you gotta be wrong. He's got to be our guy."

"Why?" Fraser asked a little more sharply than he had intended. "Because you need him to be?"

Ray looked as if Fraser had hit him.

"Ray—I… believe me, I know how it feels to believe in something with every fibre of your being despite evidence that says otherwise," Fraser sighed and rubbed his eyebrow before meeting Ray's gaze head-on. "I wasn't completely honest with you yesterday. There were traces of something in Stella's drink and while I couldn't be sure what had been used exactly, I can guarantee that she wouldn't have survived finishing that drink. No one at the bar remembered mixing the drink or even that she ordered it."

"Are you sure?" Ray's hands closed to fists at his side.

"Yes," Fraser said with complete conviction.

Before Ray could reply, the telephone rang.

"Canadian consulate, Constable Benton Fraser speaking... oh dear. Is anyone hurt?" He could see Ray's head whip around. "...I'm relieved to hear it..." Fraser looked at Ray and shook his head with a small smile. Ray relaxed infinitesimally. "...no, of course. We'll be right over."

"It seems that the Alderman received a letter bomb. It was addressed to Miss Kowalski and apparently hand-delivered by someone, that point is still a little unclear. However, since the vehement protest against his building project the Alderman has his mail screened for security reasons. I believe that's what saved them."

"Stella is alright?"

"Yes, Ray."

Fraser could see the tension drain from Ray.

"Okay, let's get cracking."

During the drive, Fraser wondered why the Alderman had called him and not Ray. At least Ray was an official representative of the police force, even if the Alderman hadn't wanted to entrust Detectives Huey and Dewey with this newest development.

He watched Ray's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and his tightly set mouth. It had probably been a wise decision not to call Ray. A conversation between the Alderman and Ray probably wouldn't have been very fruitful.

Fraser worried a little that his partner's passionate nature would exacerbate the situation at the scene of the crime. He needn't have worried. Ray's heartfelt approach turned him into a force of nature; a force to be reckoned with.

Fraser had seldom seen security guards of this stature and seriousness in such a state of intimidation. Oh, Ray was good.

He was a flurry of motion, and a few times Fraser worried that Ray was going too far, giving his emotions too free a rein, so that he was almost prepared to break up a fight, but Ray always knew the line, it was—yes, it seemed to be some kind of posture.

Taking Stella's annoyance into account, she knew it as well. In contrast to Fraser, she didn't seem to find much to admire in Ray's carefully controlled emotions. Ray's mind worked quick like a lightning bolt, but Fraser had the advantage of being more foresighted. So he came upon the conclusion before Ray had finished his line of questioning.

"Stella, it's really important—"

"Don't you think I know that, Ray?" Stella snapped at him. "I told you already that I didn't have a case that fits the attacks. I thought this was about Frank's housing project?" Stella asked bewildered and a little impatient.

Ray ground his teeth together at the familiarity with which Miss Kowalski used the Alderman's first name.

"Ray—" Fraser interrupted. Really, he should've seen it sooner. Of course, it made perfect sense.

"Did you have an unsuccessful arrest lately in which the perpetrator was married? Maybe even a case of domestic violence?"

Ray's eyes widened.

"You think it's me. Ah, hell. You think she's been targeted because of me? Dammit, if you think it, it's probably true," Ray ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it in yet more disarray.

"Ray please, just think back on your latest cases."

"Yes, yes… hell… yeah! Shit, there was a guy. He beat a co-worker of his wife half to death in a jealous rage— it turned out they were just colleagues… but there was some screw-up with the paper work— not my mistake—and he walked. Or he got released after a ridiculously short time or something..."

"Miss Kowalski, could you describe the waiter who mixed your cocktail?" Fraser could see it all come together like a puzzle.

Stella arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"Really, I don't see what—"

But Ray did.

"Please Stell, just answer his question."

Stella sighed, but turned to Fraser anyway.

"Maybe about Ray's height, dark hair cut short—"

"Was he dressed like the other waiters?" Fraser cut in.

"Y—actually, I don't think so. He was standing behind the bar and he was wearing a suit… now that I think about it, the others had a white shirt on."

Fraser nodded.

"Ray, does the description fit your case?"

Ray nodded gloomily.

They went into the hallway to ask the security guard who accepted the letter for Miss Kowalski this morning. It matched the description of the suspect.

"What now?" Ray asked in a low voice. His body was thrumming with nervous energy and Fraser felt almost invigorated by it, as if Ray was a conductor for electricity, powering Fraser's own body.

"Seeing that both attacks happened while you were close enough to witness it, I'd say it's safe to assume that he wants to hurt you with it."

A dark look flitted over Ray's face, but Fraser wasn't telling him anything that hadn't occurred to Ray before.

"It would be best to arrange a meeting somewhere outside with Stella tonight to draw him out."

"No way, Fraser. We are not using her as a decoy—over my dead body."

The fierce flash in Ray's eyes almost took Fraser's breath away. He needed a second to clear his throat before he could reply.

"I was thinking of calling Huey and Dewey at the 27th to ask for their assistance; it is their case after all. They could bring a female officer as a double."

Ray relaxed and he showed Fraser an apologetic smile. "Good idea."

They talked it over with Stella and Frank Orsini. The Alderman agreed to meet them this evening, even though Stella didn't like it.

Out of the front door, Ray turned back around and announced in a loud and clear voice: "So you're going to the concert in the park tonight, right?"

"That's none of your business, Ray. Thank you for your help, but Frank and I will be fine on our own."

One had to hand it to Stella, either she meant what she said from the bottom of her heart or she was an excellent actor. Fraser pulled at his collar. Well…

Ray's flinch made it obvious that he had noticed the very real message underneath the agreed arrangement as well.

When had it become so easy to read his new friend?

They went to the consulate so that Fraser could inform the detectives at the 27th. Constable Turnbull was on desk duty. Fraser tried to introduce Ray and to explain to Turnbull the plan for the evening, but it was hard enough talking to Turnbull when there wasn't anything of importance at stake.

Fraser gave up on his efforts and Turnbull smiled happily and continued to refer to Ray as a Mr. Right with whom he had several conversations already.

Ray mimed loony tunes and Fraser raised his shoulders helplessly. Turnbull was a good man, but he wasn't exactly… well. The less said the better.

In Fraser's office it became clear to Fraser under what kind of stress Ray must've been. He was pacing along the length of Fraser's limited office space and Diefenbaker followed him, tongue lolling enthusiastically about, until Ray whirled suddenly around to face Fraser.

"This is my fault, Fraser. If anything happens to her, it'll be on my hands—I—"

"Ray, stop it," Fraser interrupted in a calm voice.

Ray leaned back against Fraser's desk with a tired sigh. "She divorced me, Fraser, it's not fair that she should be in danger because of me—"

"Listen, you did your job. You did what you needed to do. You did everything in your power to protect her— this was out of your control! It's – Not – Your – Fault, do you understand? You couldn't have acted any differently, it was the right thing—" Fraser realized too late that he was talking himself into a state of agitation.

"It's alright, Frase," Ray said quietly.

Fraser realized that he had stepped closer and closer until he had pressed Ray almost back onto the desk. He felt his cheeks suffuse with heat. But he had meant every word he said, because—

"You've been there, huh?" Ray asked with a knowing look.

Fraser stared at Ray in utter surprise. This had been… as if a part of him had whispered into his ear, a voice from long ago. Was it— it was true, right?

"Fraser, you okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I—I'm…" Fraser was looking at Ray wide-eyed. "I did what I had to do… I couldn't have done it differently…" A crushing weight released its tight-fisted grip on Fraser's conscience. It hadn't been his fault that she had hated him. He had been true to his beliefs—she just hadn't been able to forgive him for that. It was his love for her that blinded him from her game when she had returned to Chicago… he had loved her...

Fraser looked intently into Ray's green-brown eyes. Ray, who was still lying almost flat on his back on Fraser's desk; Ray, who was still trying to puzzle out what Fraser was blithering on about.

Fraser was so close, he could smell Ray. He inhaled deeply; it reminded Fraser of newsprint or fresh printing ink. Ray and his constant scribbling into his notebook and the fingers sprinkled with little flecks of blue ink.

Fraser's heart beat faster all of a sudden. There were flashes of blue in Ray's hazel eyes.

"I—I'm sorry!" Fraser snapped upright and he stepped back to let Ray up. Fraser's face was burning with mortification, but Ray took it with remarkable calm.

"It's alright, buddy. I don't break that easily." Ray smiled cheekily at him. "What was that all about?"

"I just realized that we all feel guilty for things out of our control when we are in love. Because I meant what I said, Ray. You did your job when you convicted that man and if you hadn't done it, people would've been hurt. It's not your fault that Stella is in danger now. We will protect her, Ray."

Ray took a deep breath. "I know. I'm just…" Ray crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking small all of a sudden, "I just worry about her."

Fraser nodded decisively.

They put the plan into motion. Stella and Orsini were to drive to a parking lot where Stella and the officer would exchange places. Orsini and the double would then proceed to the open air concert, where they would be followed by Ray, while Fraser and Detectives Huey and Dewey were monitoring the surroundings.

Stella would remain at the parking lot in the company of Orsini's trusted security staff until the situation was under control.

Ray drove directly to the park to get into position while Fraser met the detectives at the parking lot to give them a more detailed explanation than the phone call had allowed for.

The exchange went smoothly and Fraser felt even more at ease once they reached the park and he saw Ray loitering around the entrance.

The couple began their walk towards the open air stage in the middle of the park area and Ray followed them at a discreet distance. A few times, someone came running towards them and Fraser had the unpleasant feeling of an accelerated heartbeat every time it happened.

It never came to anything, though. It were mostly joggers or youths, no one who took any particular notice of either the young woman or the man following her a little way off.

Why was Ray causing such a jolt to his heart? He was an officer of the law and as such Fraser shouldn't be overly concerned about his being in danger. Ray was an accomplished police man; he could take care of himself.

And yet…

After an hour of aimlessly walking around, Fraser and Huey conceded the possibility that nothing was going to happen. To say that he was puzzled by this would've been an understatement. Of course, it might've been that their suspect hadn't witnessed their staged exchange or that the park was too public for him… Fraser frowned.

They all met in a small pathway a little off the main path that led outside of the park again. Huey and Dewey were grumbling about a wasted evening, but that couldn't be helped. They took off, together with the female officer who had kindly assisted them in their charade.

"Dief," Fraser called when Dief appeared to follow them, but the female officer had obviously won the wolf's attention. "Suit yourself," Fraser sighed.

Ray took Fraser and the Alderman back to the parking lot where Stella was waiting for them.

"I don't get it," Ray was shaking his head bemusedly. "It was a golden opportunity."

Fraser had tried to come up with a possible explanation and had indeed thought of four possible reasons why their ruse hadn't worked. But he had no proof for any of his theories.

Ray's lean fingers were beating an irregular rhythm on the steering wheel as he voiced his thoughts.

"—what if he didn't buy it? What if he knew that it was a fake?" Ray asked suddenly and Fraser saw a muscle in his throat twitch. The thought had occurred to Fraser as well.

Ray guided the car to a standstill in the parking lot. Fraser's eyes flew immediately to Orsini's black car. It was still parked where they had last seen it, but—Fraser's eyebrows drew together. The silver car that was now parked a few feet next to it had been moved. He distinctly remembered that he had seen the car during the exchange a few hours earlier; parked somewhere to the far side, next to a concrete pillar.

They got out and Fraser's blood ran cold as he realized that the occurrence of the silver car was no coincidence.

"Ray," he cautioned, moving quickly around Ray's car to get a better view. Ray immediately picked up that something was amiss.

He kept the Alderman shielded half behind him, as they approached the side of Orsini's car.

One of Orsini's bodyguards lay behind it; Fraser had glimpsed the heavy black boot protruding behind the right rear tire.

The man was dead. Someone had hit him with a blunt object.

"Shit!" Ray motioned for the Alderman to stay behind Ray's car. Where was the second security guard? They had barely walked around the black car, when one of the doors on the silver one next to it was flung open.

Fraser saw Ray freeze and didn't need more than that to know that Stella had emerged from the other car. Closely followed by their suspect with a gun in his hand.

Stella was shaking slightly, but she appeared otherwise unhurt.

"Stella—you asshole! Ray shouted at the man wielding the gun.

"I'm the asshole?" The voice of the man was quavering. "You turned my wife against me!" He shouted, near hysteria.

"Maybe she left you because you beat the _shit_ out of another guy!" Ray shouted back.

"He was trying to take her from me! Now you can find out for yourself what it means to lose your wife."

Ray gnashed his teeth. "She's not my wife anymore. She's my ex-wife. Which part of that don't you get?"

Fraser inched closer to the silver car.

"A divorce is just a piece of paper. A gun shot is a definite statement."

"Ray," Stella was trying hard to keep it together, but her face was slowly crumbling. Fraser admired her courage. Ray and she must have made an astonishing couple.

"You're not going to shoot an innocent woman, okay? It's me you want. You got me, alright?" Ray drew his gun back to show that he was no threat to him. "You let her go, you can do whatever you want with me."

The man laughed. "You thought I was so stupid. Did you honestly believe I would follow you around? So that you could lead me to the cops? No, I followed her. The only thing I had to do was wait."

"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!" he shouted at Fraser who raised his hands in surrender. "Or I'll shoot her."

"Let her go, it's not her you want anyway," Ray pressed out between clenched teeth.

"You'd die for her? I tell you what, you can both die together."

He pushed Stella between her shoulder blades and she stumbled in Ray's direction. Ray immediately pushed her behind him, so that she was covered by his body.

A split-second later, their assailant held a self-made bomb between his hands. "We can all go down together," he laughed.

It didn't take Fraser more than a second to survey the scene. Orsini was at least halfway shielded by Ray's car, but Stella and Ray had no cover—the black car behind them prevented them from moving anywhere in that direction. And then there was himself. Too close to dive for cover. Too close to run away.

But maybe close enough to give them a minimum chance at survival.

His gaze met Ray's.

The man raised his hand to push the button and Fraser made his move.

"NO!" Ray's shout rang out over the almost deserted parking lot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

Words: ~ 6.050

Rating: NC-17

Warning: het!sex (no kidding ^^) between Ray/surprise (not Stella, Frannie or Thatcher... this should cover all possible squicks and common pairings, right?). Don't worry, this is a Fraser/RayK story and have I ever let you down so far?

"Hey, you alright? Come on, buddy..." The voice was quiet, but insistent. Fraser groaned and turned on his back... at least he thought it was his back.

Wrong move.

"Argh—" The pain was forced in a gasp out of Fraser's lungs.

"Easy there, take it easy." The voice was now accompanied by a steadying hand on Fraser's chest.

It took a little bit of effort, but Fraser managed to open his eyes. Ray's blurry face came into view above him. The looming face stretched into a grin.

"Hey there," Ray said and Fraser tried to come to terms with what just happened.

The bomb! Ray—Stella—the Alderman—"Ray, is everyone alright?" Fraser struggled to sit up, but Ray's firm hand on his chest didn't let him.

"Everything's under control. How do you feel?"

That was a fair question. His knees hurt and his back was aching in a way that was beyond pain—agony. A point to the side of his head was throbbing, so he had probably collided with the concrete floor in a rather direct fashion. Apart from that, he seemed unhurt.

"Alright," Fraser answered. After all, it could've been much worse.

"Liar," Ray grinned at him. "At least, I hope you're lying 'cause if that's you when you're alright, I don't wanna see it when you actually hurt, that cannot be a pretty sight."

"What about—" Fraser started to ask, but was interrupted by a sigh from Ray.

"Yeah, what about the others. Got it. Everyone else comes first," Ray glared at Fraser for a second. "Stella is fine, the Alderman didn't get so lucky, though. The shockwave must've slammed him against the car behind him and he must've hit his head pretty hard. I guess he tried to get further away instead of cowering behind the car. He's still out for the count."

"What happened to the bomber?"

"Well, since you got a savior-complex or something, you more or less covered him when the thing blew. He hit his head and got a mild concussion in return, but otherwise he's fine. The paramedics are looking after him and Stella. Orsini's already at the hospital."

"How long have I been unconscious?" Fraser asked, trying to take everything in.

"A while," Ray said, and there was a flutter of something in his voice.

"I swear, when you jumped at him and knocked the bomb out of his hands I thought I was gonna watch you blow into pieces."

It was clear from Ray's voice that there was little in the scope of his imagination that could be worse.

"Ray, I knew I had at least two seconds until the bomb would explode."

He remembered the moment the bomber had pulled the bomb out. Hand-made. Exactly three wires; red, yellow, and blue. Controlled by a computer circuit board, very unusual. Taking into account the natural delay between pressing a button and its function, a computer algorithm would have to be completed as well. Really, it had been clear that this would buy him at least two seconds.

Ray bared his teeth at him. "Fraser—! You threw yourself at the guy the moment he pushed the button. I did not know that—and you couldn't be sure—that it would take another second for it to blow up—"

"On the contrary, Ray, you see—"

"No I do not—you could've died, Fraser!" Ray's voice rang out over the parking lot.

"I knew it would buy us a better chance of survival if I could at least get that bomb a few meters away from us at the time of the detonation. Otherwise we all would've died with certainty."

Ray gnashed his teeth. "Alright, alright... come on, let's get you over to one of the guys with the shock blankets and the little light to shine into your eyes."

Fraser let himself be pulled up with some difficulty. "I really don't need to seek medical attention."

Ray hung his head.

"Will you at least let me check you over? Just so I can go to sleep tonight and not wake up in the middle of the night thinking you died from interior damage."

"Internal."

"What?"

"So that I didn't die from internal damage," Fraser repeated.

"I hope for your life expectancy that this translates into something like a 'yes'."

Fraser took a look at his friend before conceding.

"If you insist, but I can guarantee you—"

"Nope, sorry. We won't accept any more guarantees for today. We are full. We are over-booked. You're letting me have a look at you or it'll be a check-in at the next hospital."

"Very well."

Ray's grin came out like a sun after a long rain. Really, if it made him feel better...

_I don't even know where to start,_ Fraser admitted to his notebook that night, smoothing over the yellowish paper in an attempt to bring his thoughts into some semblance of order. _Maybe I should start with the end, with what I realized after this day. I found more than a friend in Ray Kowalski. I found a partner. Someone who trusts me to cover his back... someone whom I can trust to do likewise. It was... astonishing. I hadn't expected to find someone like Ray, even less had I anticipated someone I could work with. I'm told – and I think I can understand why – that I am 'a pain in the ass'. Those are Ray's words, obviously. _

_Ray, I mean Ray Vecchio, and I, we worked a long time together and I never took the trust between us for granted. But I hadn't thought that someone else could be as trust-worthy... or as trusting. I believe in the good of people, I believe that I can trust a lot of people to do certain things, I believe that I can predict what some people will do, but I don't think that I actually believed until now, that there was someone who would throw himself into the line of fire because he knew that I would be there to have his back._

_Oh, Ray was furious, no mistake here. He told me that he wouldn't be there to 'save my ass' whenever I felt like throwing myself in front of a bomb because of something I had seen MacGyver do – some piece of American television I've been informed. I don't think I've ever broken into a smile before when I realized that someone lied to me. _

_Friends. Partners. _

Half without conscious thought, Fraser raised a hand to push a strand of hair away from his face. He winced when his fingers touched the bandage that covered the gash on his forehead. Despite the pain, a smile crept onto his face.

Ray's fingers had been exceptionally careful when he had tended to Fraser's wound. He had been cursing all the time, muttering expletives, and berating Fraser for his recklessness… but his touch had been so gentle, completely at odds with his harsh words.

_Human touch is a luxury for me. Especially the selfless touch of a friend, _Fraser continued his narrative_. I hadn't known how starved for touch I was until I felt Ray's hands upon me. He has very able hands; I don't think I could move at all now if it hadn't been for his help. The force of the detonation had been hell on my back and by the time we had reached Ray's apartment it had stiffened up completely. _

It had surprised Fraser when Ray passed the intersection that would take them to the consulate without a second glance. Upon inquiry, Ray had only laughed and asked if Fraser really thought him such a bad friend.

Ray's apartment was a charming extension of his idiosyncratic personality. Cluttered and stuffed with all kinds of things Fraser couldn't even begin to fathom how they might come in handy. A bicycle on a stand, a string of glowing chili-pepper lights over the kitchen counter, coffee stains on the newspaper on the table. And yet… it was oddly comfortable. The cushy armchair in front of the window and the assortment of objects with purely sentimental value that were scattered over the surfaces, and everything bathed in the warm light from a lamp in the corner. It was very homey.

_Ray's touch had been so self-assured. Not the least bit hesitant – or even uncomfortable. His hands had been so warm; the warmth had seeped effortlessly through the soft material of the Henley, helping my muscles to relax. It was an act of intimacy for me, who is so little used to the experience of a comforting touch. But Ray had been very kind; he didn't act as if there were anything the least bit unusual about it… and maybe for him it isn't. He is so very direct in his approach, not the least hesitant about touching. We talked a little about the case and about Ray's and Stella's relationship—well, Ray did most of the talking. I'm afraid my back didn't put me in a particularly talkative mood. What Ray said about letting go and loss… I kept thinking about it even after he had dropped me off at the consulate. He said that you had to try, that you needed 'to get back in the saddle' because otherwise you would never know if you could do it again, fall in love, be with someone else. _

_When I said that I don't think I'm ready yet he asked 'how would you know?' and I didn't have an answer for that. Maybe he's right. Maybe I shouldn't let her Victoria control me any longer than she has. Ray Vecchio had been right, but I don't think I ever truly believed it, that not every dark-haired woman is trying to kill her lover. _

_And I see how bravely Ray Kowalski is trying to cope, not afraid to get hurt again. He said it didn't matter if he ever found love again; all that mattered was that he didn't give up. _

The next week, Ray was busy with a murder investigation and Fraser didn't expect to see much of his friend. All the more pleased was he when a phone call came in on Tuesday afternoon.

"Hey, you busy?"

"Good afternoon, Ray," Fraser smiled. Ray wasted very little time on social niceties. "I would like to claim that my work at the consulate is sufficient to fill my workday, however, I already straightened the supply closet and my daily report is already awaiting the Inspector's approval on her desk."

"Greatness. I'll be there in five."

It turned out that Ray was at a dead end with his current investigation and Fraser was only too glad to offer his assistance. Ray was filling him in during the drive to the victim's house.

"I was wondering, Ray, wouldn't working with a partner help you with your investigations on your cases? I always found a second pair of eyes and ears most helpful," Fraser glanced at Ray's profile. From the start Fraser had been puzzled by Ray's apparent refusal to work together with a partner.

A slow smile spread over Ray's lips and he pushed his sun-glasses up to throw Fraser a look that very clearly said that Fraser was obviously from a different planet.

"Fraser, I don't need an official partner. After all," Ray's lips twitched again and he concentrated his attention back on the road again. "I got you. Don't I?"

He patted Fraser's shoulder for a moment.

Fraser felt a sudden flush of gratitude. Partners then, he thought. So it hadn't been his fanciful imagination alone that had come up with that idea – his imagination was a trifle unreliable at times.

"So, what do you make of it?"

Fraser thought about the information Ray had just given him.

"If I understood you correctly, the victim had been a street vendor all of his life and there seems to be no apparent motive for his murder?"

"Who'd kill a pretzel vendor?"

"Point taken. It isn't a profession that inspires grudges. Any known enemies, gambling debts—"

"Nothing. The guy lived a pretty quiet life together with his wife. The house is nice, but it's no castle. The wife's got some kind of nerve disorder so she's mostly at home. No big social life, no debts. Nothing was taken from the body, so robbery is not a possible motive."

The visit at Mr. Tucci's house was also not a very helpful one. His wife was grief-stricken and a neighbour was staying with her at the moment. No one could think of a reason why anyone would want to harm the old man.

Ray sighed and shook his head. "It was worth a try. We could see if any of the witnesses check out?"

"That sounds like a good idea."

The first two on Ray's list turned out to know nothing more than that a shot had been fired which had brought them to the side of the crime. They hadn't seen anyone run from the crime scene or even noticed the victim before the shot fell.

The next address was around the corner. Ray rang the bell and the door was opened only a short moment later.

"Yes?" The woman who stood in the doorframe asked.

Fraser waited for Ray to explain the reason for their visit, but Ray kept quiet. Confused, Fraser looked at his friend. Ray stood there with his eyes fixed on the woman and appeared to be completely speechless.

"Ah, M'am, we are investigating the murder of Mr. Tucci," Fraser explained instead of his friend.

"Come in," the woman stepped back to let them enter.

Ray shook his head as if to clear it.

"Mrs. Russell can you tell us what you saw?" Ray's voice was business-like, but he still seemed unable to tear his gaze away.

"Of course. Even though I am not sure how much help I'll be. I was on my way home from a friend— I know it's dangerous but it's much faster—and I passed the pretzel vendor right after the turn that leads to the pond."

She had a dark, smoky voice that captivated Ray with almost hypnotic force if Fraser was any judge of the intensity in his friend's eyes.

"I had almost reached the next bend when I heard the shot. I turned around, but Mr. Tucci—that was his name, you said? – he was almost out of my sight already. I saw him crumple on the ground and—I'm sorry, I know I should've run over there to help, but I was terrified. I was frozen to the spot. A small crowd gathered and I drew hesitantly closer. The police were on the scene a minute later. I'm afraid that's all that I can tell you."

"No, that's very helpful, Mrs.—"

"Please, Miss is fine. I'm not married or anything."

Ray flashed her a smile. "Did you notice anything as to who shot or from where the shot came from?"

She shook her head with an apologetic look. There was something frail and delicate about her. She was beautiful in a way, Fraser supposed.

"No, I only turned around after I heard the shot and I was so shocked I don't remember anything besides the dead man on the street."

"I'm sorry you had to witness that. Here," Ray scribbled something in his notebook and tore the page out to give it to her. "This is my number. You can call me should you remember anything or should you, you know, need anything," Ray appeared slightly embarrassed, but her smile was appraising and she took the offered slip of paper with a knowing expression.

"Do you have anyone to stay with you?"

She shook her head. "No, but I will be fine on my own. Thank you, officer—?"

"Kowalski. Uh, Ray Kowalski."

Fraser felt a kink in his neck and cracked his neck to get rid of it. He cleared his throat. "Ah, Ray, we had better be going. We still have a few other interviews to conduct."

Ray frowned at him. "Yeah, alright."

Fraser breathed a little easier outside. He supposed it had been a little stifling inside, probably from the sun beating down all morning and maybe the A/C hadn't been working.

"Are you alright there, buddy? You seemed a little quiet."

"Of course I am alright," Fraser answered tersely. "I should ask you the same thing."

"Me?" Ray asked, surprised.

"You seemed very captivated by something there for a moment."

Ray grinned. "Frase, you did look at her, didn't you? Because if you had you would've noticed that she's stunning! Drop-dead-gorgeous."

"This is hardly a professional statement," Fraser replied stiffly.

Ray snorted. "Lighten up. There's nothing wrong with appreciating a beautiful woman. Besides, she's not a suspect or anything. She isn't even directly involved in our investigation."

They let the discussion drop and Ray was his usual self in the other interviews. Even though the witness statements themselves weren't terribly helpful.

Ray looked through his notes on the way to the car. He sighed and scratched his head. It put his hair into an even more experimental state than it was without any outside influence. Fraser smiled a little.

"So what do we got? 'A skinny guy'… and then we got 'a fat guy with skinny legs'… 'a fat skinny guy'... and 'dark hair' – at least that's something they all agreed on. But that's not a very definite description, is it? Gee…." Ray muttered, annoyed.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I'm sure we'll make some progress tomorrow."

"Yeah… yeah… should I drop you off somewhere?"

"If you would be so kind."

"No problem... I guess I'll have another chat with Luanne Russell."

Fraser started. "Why?"

Ray shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "I just want to make sure she's alright."

"…of course," Fraser answered, but it sounded strained to his own ears.

_This newest case seems to be quite the mystery. The witness descriptions are indeed odd. I can find no possible explanation for the inconsistency between skinny and fat. We are also still short a motive. Mr. Tucci had been a very respectable man as far as I can tell and no robbery had been attempted. _

_I'm also a little uneasy about Ray's involvement with Miss Russell. It is clearly not a very professional approach to the investigation and can hardly lead to an objective evaluation of her statement. I am well aware that Ray thought it was high time that he got back in the romantic game, but this appears to be a rather rushed effort on his part. I don't think that Miss Russell's visual qualities alone can be enough to claim a romantic interest. It is of course entirely up to Ray and it is none of my business, but I don't think that this is the right way to go about it. I'm sure that Ray simply needed the encouragement and the spark of mutual attraction to make himself feel better and that he won't pursue anything more permanent. After all, what could they possibly have in common?_

"Hey, Fraser, you think this love at first sight thing is legit?" Ray asked over lunch the next day.

Fraser's tea went down the wrong pipe and trying to dislodge it sent tears to his eyes.

"Easy," Ray thumped him on the back until Fraser's coughing fit had subsided.

"Excuse me?" Fraser asked with slightly watery eyes.

Ray looked a little abashed. "Well, you know, that moment between Luanne and me? You think there can be this instant spark between people and then you just know?"

Dief yipped agreement from under the table. Fraser looked reproachfully at him. "It's different for wolves," he said tartly. Dief's answering grumble left his disagreement on this point without a doubt.

"See, Dief agrees with me!" Ray said smugly, chewing on slightly stale French fries.

"I hardly think love is just a question of mutual attraction," Fraser explained carefully.

"But it's a good place to start." Ray grinned victoriously.

Over the course of the next few days, Fraser learned a lot more things about Luanne Russell – more than he had ever wanted to know.

"She works for some kind of paper—she doesn't like to talk about it, says nothing she ever brings is ever good enough for her boss," Ray told him while they were poring over maps of the park in which Mr. Tucci had been murdered.

"Ah, I see," Fraser replied non-commitally.

They returned to Mrs. Tucci's house. She was again in the company of the neighbor, a non-descript woman in her thirties with keen eyes behind black-framed glasses and hair of a run-of-the-mill blond that reached her shoulders.

"Mrs. Tucci, I'm sorry for the intrusion, but could we bother you again? We have a few more questions."

Ray looked pointedly at the neighbour, but Mrs. Tucci nodded and said "Oh, please, Mr. Detective, Mrs. Harker can stay. I feel better with her here."

Ray didn't like it, but the old woman was set on her decision, so Ray shrugged and consulted his notebook.

"Could you take a look at this map?" Ray showed her the map of the park. They had traced the route Mr. Tucci had taken and circled the spot where he had met his death.

Mrs. Tucci looked the map over and began shaking her head.

"No, no. This is not possible."

"What isn't?"

"You must be mistaken. This is not Franco's route."

Fraser's brows drew together and he approached the map. The route was corroborated by the witness statements.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Mrs. Tucci nodded emphatically.

"Here, I'll show you. This," she drew another set of lines on the map, "this is his route. It has always been the same without fail for all those years."

Ray and Fraser were still puzzling over the change in routine when they left her.

"Okay… I'll ask the witnesses again. Maybe someone knows something about it. I'll see Luanne later anyway; I can ask her if she noticed anything unusual."

Fraser refrained from answering. He simply didn't understand how Ray could be so besotted with a woman he hardly knew. Of course, Ray might be following some baser needs, he might have some… needs… but Fraser had thought that his friend was trying to find a little more than simple relief.

That evening, Fraser tried to find some peace, but neither his trusted notebook nor ironing his hat helped him with that endeavor. Dief began to whimper after Fraser's third bout of pacing through his office.

"Yes, you know what? You're right. I can go out and be social myself. I don't have to wait for Ray to fill my time. He can spend his evening with Miss Russell all he likes; he is free to do what he wants with his time. I can meet people, too."

Decisively, Fraser changed out of his uniform and into jeans and a blue shirt, put on his hat and left the consulate.

After aimlessly walking around for half an hour, he realized that he had no idea where to go. He didn't frequent bars and he never actually tried to meet people as a regular of the crowd. Where was he supposed to start? A little overwhelmed at the possibilities of Chicago's nightlife, he stopped at a hotel to enquire after a suitable bar.

It wasn't far and Fraser had no problem finding the 'Lotus Room'. Upon entering, Fraser at once remembered why he usually didn't like to frequent bars. The music was too loud, it was stuffy and half of the other patrons were well on their way to being drunk.

He ordered a water at the bar and looked for a quiet spot somewhere. He already regretted his decision in coming here, but he had made his bed and now he would lie in it.

Tomorrow, he could tell Ray about his exciting evening at a regular bar.

He looked around. It was a little classier than the usual pub and at least it was a lot more comfortable than the high-end bar that Stella and her date had frequented. The drunken laughter of the group at the next table chafed on his ears. He didn't have to stay long. Just long enough to finish his water… and prove a point.

There was a shout of triumph and Fraser looked to the left, half behind the bar, to see two men giving each other a high-five. He smiled at their antics and was just about to turn back when—

"Ray!" Fraser exclaimed in sudden pleasure. Fraser was about to leave his seat to go over and say hello when he noticed that Ray wasn't here alone. Fraser's whole face froze as he realized that Ray was having a very intimate conversation with Luanne. She had been almost hidden for a moment by one of the men who had raised Fraser's attention in the first place.

Of all the places, Fraser thought almost bitterly. For a moment he had almost made up his mind to leave and to end this disastrous evening before it could get any worse. But his body wasn't moving and he couldn't tear his eyes away from Ray's experimental hair that caught the light of the bar, his long fingers that pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and the smile that lit up his eyes.

Ray leaned closer to her and suddenly their lips met. Fraser stared mesmerized. He knew it was rude, but he simply couldn't look away. They were a stunning pair. Ray's fierce features and her fragile beauty. Ray cradled the back of her head to keep her close and she looked so small and vulnerable in his embrace that Fraser couldn't stop staring.

The kiss turned heated and Fraser saw a possessive streak in Ray that he had only known in a bigger context so far. To see it condensed in such a little thing, just a kiss... it sent a shiver down his spine. Her cheeks were flushed and every kiss seemed to fuel them more and Fraser felt a distinctive warmth in his ears.

It startled Fraser how sexual it was, the way they kissed, the way Ray's tongue plunged into her mouth, the way her fingers gripped his shirt.

They parted grudgingly and Fraser could see Ray's quickened breathing from across the room. His arousal was almost palpable. She asked him something and Ray's smile broke over his features in a hungry flash. He nodded and together they made their way towards the exit. They were walking so close they were almost pressed together. Ray's hand had vanished underneath her shirt, stroking softly over the small of her back, and Fraser's mouth was suddenly dry.

He had no idea how much longer he sat there, staring at the exit, but all of a sudden he broke out of his reverie and stumbled out of the bar. He made it back to the consulate in a haze and he ignored Dief's inquisitive yipping. Sleep. He needed sleep. Ray was probably spending his night with very little, but that didn't matter. He didn't need to know what Ray did. Did he?

Ray followed her into her bedroom. There was only a dim light coming from a smallish lamp in the corner, but Ray liked the way it painted shadows across her skin. He took her in his arms and walked her backwards. Her lips were soft and she gasped softly when Ray broke the kiss. With a hungry look, Ray's fingers sneaked underneath her shirt to lift it over her head. She raised her hands to help him and Ray's hands wasted no time to explore her skin.

Ray loved the way female skin felt. Silky, smooth, so smooth, and his fingertips followed the dip of her stomach to the waistband of her skirt. He felt her shiver slightly under his touch and suddenly he needed to kiss her again. Her lips opened easily to his touch and Ray's hands came around her to pull her close.

His hand roamed over her back, hooking into the strap of her bra for a moment and she gave a quiet little moan and pushed closer against him. With nimble fingers, Ray unhooked the bra and pulled it off her shoulders. She pulled her mouth away from his then. "Ray..." she whispered, and if her voice had been fit for a bedroom before it was positively smoldering now.

Ray couldn't quite keep the smile from his lips as his hands cupped her breasts. Her hands were fisted into his shirt and her wet mouth was pressed against his neck. Her breasts were soft, small, and perfect, and Ray couldn't resist twisting her nipples lightly. She cried out softly and Ray murmured against her ear. "Responsive, I like that…" She bit her lip and Ray bent down, unable to keep his mouth away any longer.

"Please," she moaned quietly as Ray's lips closed around the little nub. It was firm and of a beautiful pale rose color and Ray pressed his lips tighter together around it, flicking his tongue out as she gasped for air.

He pulled back to look at her. Her face was flushed and Ray winked at her before taking her other nipple between his lips. He bit down lazily, grazing it with his teeth and she shivered and moaned and Ray bit down tighter until her moan turned into a gasp. Leisurely, he painted a pattern with his tongue around the abused flesh, breathing on it to expose it to sudden cold and she shivered. Her hands fisted in his hair as Ray kissed along her breasts, along her collar bone, to bite down lightly into the soft flesh of her shoulder.

She drew him closer and Ray delighted in the way her naked body felt against his clothes. Luanne tightened her hold on him and leaned backwards until gravity pulled her to the bed. Ray landed on top of her and moved to kiss her again. His tongue teased her lips as his hands ghosted playfully over the bare flesh of her thighs.

With a moan, she raised her knees, pulling her legs up, and Ray's fingers skirted over the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. Her scent was enveloping him, drenching him in the heady, powdery, and yet natural, smell of warm skin.

"Ray… oh, Ray…" she murmured as his fingers moved underneath her skirt. Her hips pushed up, meeting his teasing palm and the tantalizing slide of his fingertips. He chuckled dryly. Her panties were of a slick, cool fabric, and Ray's fingers moved along the edges where skin met cover.

She whimpered and her fingers curled tight into Ray's shirt. Ray's almost noiseless laugh puffed moistly against the warm skin of her collar bone. "Let me go, I wanna taste you," Ray murmured and gripped his shirt at the collar to pull it over his head. Once it met the ground, he slithered further down. The only other sound in the room was her rapid breathing.

With a determined hand, Ray pushed her legs further apart to find a comfortable position between them. Luanne's breathing stopped on an anticipatory gasp. Ray smirked.

He moved closer and inhaled deeply. He loved the way women smelled. Warm. Sweet with a hint of musk. Wet. The way he thought electricity would taste like. With the flat of his tongue, he licked a wet stripe over her panties. The dark, purple fabric darkened another shade.

Luanne's whole body moved with Ray's tongue. She pressed herself closer, trying to force more of herself onto Ray's tongue. But Ray didn't take any notice of it. As if he had all the time in the world, his tongue explored the soft crease where her thigh met her pelvis. He tasted the salt there and the slight hint of vanilla that seemed to be part of herself.

"Don't be a tease," Luanne's smoky voice held the glow of hot coals. Ray bit the inside of her thigh. "Wouldn't dream of it," he murmured.

He pushed her skirt further up, only to pull her panties down. Their eyes met as Ray slid the silky fabric off her legs. She bit her lips and Ray winked. He kissed his way down from her navel again. She had the most perfect bellybutton.

He licked softly over the smooth skin of her pubic arch before dipping between her lips. She cried out, writhing against the sheets, but Ray held her hips down. Her fingers curled into fists into the sheet as a groan was torn from her throat. Ray's tongue dove in, savoring her taste, and she pressed her sex even closer against his face.

Almost tenderly, Ray spread her open with his fingers. His tongue explored her lips, the soft, delicate inside flesh, before it darted softly over that little nub that was already flushed and swollen. Luanne couldn't keep quiet anymore. "Oh, oh God… oh, Ray…" Her toes curled up, gripping the sheet between them. But now that Ray was right where he wanted to be, he showed no mercy. He sucked on it before giving it quick licks until her hips were moving up to meet him. Ray's fingers spread the slick around until she was thoroughly wet. Then he pushed two fingers in as slowly as he could stand.

Luanne's cry might've raised the whole street, but Ray didn't care. Again and again, his fingers delved in, spreading her open, as his tongue flicked over her clit in an almost cruel pattern. He loved the way a woman could drip from sheer want.

"Ray—I—"

Ray pressed his tongue against the little nodule and he could feel Luanne convulse around him. Her legs pressed tightly against him and they were shaking from the strain with which she gripped him.

Reluctantly, Ray released her. He nipped at her hole once more, enjoying the way it tried to pull him in, before pressing gentle kisses along the inside of her thigh.

"Ray… Ray, please…" Her voice was more of a hoarse whisper. She reached out for him and pressed something in his hand. As his fingers closed around it, the plastic crinkled. Hurriedly, Ray opened his jeans. He took himself out and tore the condom wrapper open.

Luanne stretched her hands out for him. Her legs came up to wrap around his hips, and the next moment Ray was engulfed in glorious heat.

"Ha…" Ray gasped as he moved inside of her.

Luanne's fingers were leaving red streaks upon his back, but Ray didn't care. He pushed into her again and again and her hips rose up to meet him with the smack of flesh on flesh.

"More… please, more…" Luanne gasped and Ray picked up speed. She would probably be sore tomorrow, but he didn't care. And, apparently, neither did she.

Ray fused their mouths together, sharing a violent, desperate kiss, before he needed to break for air. His breathing was loud in the almost darkness of her room.

"Harder—" her voice broke in the middle of her plea and the sound Ray made was almost a snarl. He pulled out and turned her around in a flash, only to enter her again from behind. She moaned and pushed up on her knees, her fingers gripped the headboard tightly as Ray slammed into her.

Ray gripped the creases of her skirt in his fist as he pushed in as deep as he could. The pleasure was turning everything around him to white noise. Luanne was gasping open-mouthed. "Ray—I—I'm so close—please—" she sobbed and Ray gritted his teeth.

His own climax was approaching in a big knock-out. Ray wrapped his arm around her and moved his hand between her legs. It didn't take much. His middle finger rubbed over her clit in a small circle as she suddenly cried out and everything pulled tight.

Ray moaned hoarsely as he pushed into her a last time. He rested his sweaty brow against her back, breathing hard….

—Fraser woke with a start. His sheets were twisted around his legs and he couldn't get any air. It was too hot, almost asphyxiating, and he needed to get out. With erratic efforts, Fraser managed to get the sheet away from him.

The alarm clock showed that it was still almost an hour before he had to get up. He fell back against his mattress with an exhausted sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

Words: ~ 5.680

Rating: PG-13 for topics of violence

Summary: Deceptions – truth doesn't come easily 

Ray pushed his coffee away with a disgusted sigh. "You're not even listening to me!"

Fraser was startled out of his thoughts. "I'm... terribly sorry, Ray. I didn't sleep very well, I'm not exactly myself today."

Ray smiled slightly.

"It's okay, this case is driving me insane too."

The case wasn't exactly the reason Fraser was so distracted, but he couldn't very well tell Ray the truth, could he?

Ray studied the map with Mrs. Tucci's addition in it. "I really don't get it. Why change the route after years of sticking to it? Doesn't make any sense... if that's not his route then whose is it?"

"—Ray! That's it."

"Huh?" Ray looked up with a confused look on his face.

"What if the route belonged to someone else? What if he covered for someone?"

"Yeah, okay. That might work. How do we find out for who?"

"Whom."

"Whatever… you're a freak, you know that?"

Fraser smiled. "Understood. Let's see who else sells pretzels in the park."

They were almost at the gate when a newspaper stand caught Ray's eye. "You got to be kidding me!" Ray pulled one of the papers from their holder. "How did they get wind of this?" He handed the newspaper to Fraser who skimmed the article on the front page.

Police on the wrong track – In the case of the murder of Mr. Tucci, a pretzel vendor, late Monday evening the police are obviously still in the dark. Mr. Tucci's route never varied in all of his years, until the fateful night when he was murdered in cold blood. The police are still at a loss to account for this change of routine...

"Oh dear."

"What kind of tabloid paper is it anyway? I'd really like to know who blabbed his mouth."

"Mister, are you intending to buy that paper?" The news agent cut in.

"Gee, take it easy," Ray snapped at him, slamming the paper on a stack of glossy magazines.

Ray's anger evaporated during their walk through the park. He was always quick to anger, but Fraser had noticed a while ago that Ray was just as ready to forgive. It seemed to be his hot-blooded nature that caused such passionate reactions, so very different from Fraser's own rather detached responses.

They walked along the route Mr. Tucci had taken on his last evening.

Fraser consulted the map and pointed to another path going off to the left. "This is where he usually would've changed direction. Taking this other way enlarged his area by a very generous proportion."

They passed a corner where an old man was playing chess at one of the stone tables and followed the path in the direction of the pond. There was no street vendor anywhere to be seen.

At the pond, they turned back to re-trace their steps.

"Strange, really strange," Ray muttered when they had almost reached the intersection again.

"What are you guys looking for?" Came a slightly nasal voice from behind them. They turned around. It was the old man at the chess table.

"Ah, Mr. Hanrahan," Fraser greeted the man and walked over.

"You know the guy?"

"Certainly. Mr. Hanrahan, I'm wondering whether you might be able to help us. You frequent this area of the park very often, don't you?"

"As regular as clockwork," the old man confirmed proudly.

"Could you tell us if there is a street vendor around here usually?"

The eyes of Mr. Hanrahan turned suspicious; with his bushy eyebrows and the beak-like nose his face wasn't unlike that of a small bird of prey. "You've been very well briefed."

Fraser flicked a thumb over his eyebrow. "Ah, so you can confirm that there used to be a street vendor here?"

Mr. Hanrahan beckoned them closer and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Haven't seen the regular one around lately. He stopped making his rounds last Monday. That's when the other guy took over – got shot for his troubles. But I know what's really going on."

Ray raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes, it's an interesting stratagem. Double bluff and hide in plain view. I used that ruse in '56 to smuggle Santos out of Budapest before the tanks came rolling in. You see, that man wasn't really a street vendor. He was a secret agent."

"Uh, sure, great," Ray answered, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked uncertainly at Fraser.

"Can you tell us the name of the regular street vendor, the one that has been gone for a week?"

"Will the safety of his mission be compromised by it?"

"No, I assure you his mission will not be affected."

"Alright then. His name is Harold Mitchell."

"Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Hanrahan."

The old man nodded shortly and put a finger to his lips before he tottered off.

Ray looked at Fraser in confusion. "What the hell was that all about?"

"Mr. Hanrahan receives calls from the plate he has in his head."

"Oh," Ray seemed to consider that fact. "You know, I don't find that very reassuring."

Fraser bit his lip to keep from laughing. "His knowledge of the neighborhood is very reliable, though. I think we should visit Mr. Mitchell."

Ray made a call and came up with a suitable candidate. There was a slight catch, though.

"Well, I found our man."

"But?" Fraser felt the need to ask upon seeing Ray's serious expression.

"Mitchell died during the night."

"Oh dear."

Fraser pondered their bad luck during the drive. This case really wasn't getting any easier. Ray was quiet himself and Fraser studied his friend while the streetlights outside immersed him in a rhythmic pattern of orange and yellow.

His dream from last night... it had been difficult even meeting Ray's gaze this morning. Why would he dream of Ray having sex with Luanne? What should it matter to him? Surely, he wasn't envious? No, no he didn't feel envy. He was... he was disappointed in Ray.

But his friend certainly didn't deserve his disappointment for doing something that was perfectly natural and also a very private matter.

He should just put it out of his mind.

"You alright?" Ray's low murmur called Fraser out of his thought. Ray flicked a glance at him as another glow from a streetlight passed over the car. "You've been pretty quiet all day, got something on your mind?"

Fraser hesitated before he shook his head with a rueful smile. "I guess I simply think too much sometimes."

Ray grinned at him. "You don't say?"

This teasing side was something Fraser hadn't expected from Ray's rather sarcastic nature. It was like a warm glow that spread whenever he realized that Ray was just 'yanking his chain,' as Ray was so fond of calling it. Lately, Fraser had been more and more the object of Ray's teasing and it almost felt like a compliment.

When Ray had dropped Fraser off at the consulate, Fraser watched him leave. For a second he was surprised because Ray didn't drive in the direction of his apartment. Then he remembered that Miss Russell's apartment was that way. An unpleasant sensation washed over him.

_I don't__ It is probably unfounded, but something about Miss Russell makes me uneasy. Ray is a grown man; he can take care of himself…but…_ Fraser smoothed one of the dog-eared pages out with a frown on his face. _I don't want him to come to harm and I think his divorce made him vulnerable. I think—I think it's very foolish of him to trust someone he hardly knows and he might get hurt for his troubles. _

_It's not that there is anything in particular about Luanne Russell that would give me reason to suspect her, but whenever I think of Ray and her together I feel this heavy cloud settle over me. Ray Vecchio would probably say that it's simply my bad luck with women that makes me so cautious, but I don't think a bit of foresight would go amiss where love is concerned. It's not that I dislike Miss Russell – even though I can't claim a particular fondness for any of her traits that apparently make her so endearing to Ray – I simply don't believe that she deserves Ray's kind nature._ Fraser sighed and pressed his fingertips to his eyes for a second. _I'm blithering. It was a long day and I am perhaps a little uncharitable due to the slow progress we are making on our case. I'm sure Luanne is a wonderful woman and that she'll make Ray very happy._

The next morning found Ray and Fraser at the house of the late Mr. Mitchell. A woman, heavily sobbing into a handkerchief, opened the door.

"Y-yes?"

"Ah, Ma'am, we're very sorry for your loss. We've come to ask a few questions about Harold Mitchell. My name is Constable Benton Fraser and this," Fraser motioned to his partner, "is Detective Kowalski from the Chicago police department."

The woman nodded shakily and invited them in. A dark-haired man rose from the couch as they entered the living room.

"What's a Mountie doing here, auntie?" The tone made it clear that they weren't welcome here.

"Oh, shush. He's with the police and has a few questions."

His lips twisted into a snarl, but he kept quiet. Sullenly, he leaned against the glass cabinet that framed the wall behind the couch.

"You are Mr. Mitchell's sister then, I presume?" Fraser asked as the woman took a seat on the couch.

"Yes, … it's just Robert and I now—his mother died young, you see? Oh, it is all so tragic."

"You are his son?" Fraser looked at the sullen man, recalling the notes Ray had shown him.

Robert nodded, but his aunt turned around and laughed tearfully. "You have to forgive him, Constable. This is very hard on him. Robert and Harold always had a difficult relationship. One day, Robert ran away… I haven't seen him since he was this small," she raised her hand to the height of her chest. She smiled sadly. "A little over a week ago, he came back to reconcile with his father, and then—and then he—he—" The woman started sobbing again.

"Here," Fraser handed her a fresh handkerchief.

"Thanks," she sniffed.

Ray looked around the apartment while Fraser calmed the elderly woman.

"We looked at the medical report… did you know that your brother was very sick?"

She shook her head as more tears spilled over her eyes. Robert stomped angrily forward to put his arm around her. "Can't you see that this is upsetting her?"

"Robert, thank you, my dear. I know he's only trying to help. No, Harold hadn't said a thing… all these months… and the cancer in his brain…"

Ray and Fraser exchanged a look and Ray nodded subtly.

"Is that the reason he offered Mr. Tucci to cover his route for him last Monday?" Fraser asked. "Because he wasn't able to do it himself anymore?"

"Mr. Tu—isn't that the man that was shot? No, I—are you saying Harold was the target?" The aunt asked with wide eyes.

"That is absurd!" The young man broke in, but he looked worried all the same. "Why should anyone want to see my father dead?"

Fraser took pity on the pale face. "We aren't certain that has been the case, but there is a strong possibility. Neither of you had known then that Mr. Mitchell wasn't doing his rounds on Monday?"

Both shook their head. "No, we—we went into the city before Harold left… it was only after we came home that we found him in bed. He said… he said it was nothing, just a cold. Poor Robert was so shaken, he never really recovered from it," she smiled fondly at her nephew.

"I understand. Thank you very much for your time."

They took their leave and Ray unlocked the car. "So… back to the Tucci's, I guess, huh?"

"Yes, maybe Mrs. Tucci can provide us with more information."

The drive wasn't a long one and Ray seemed to be in a good mood; he was whistling softly to the song on the radio and his thoughts seemed to be focused on a pleasant subject judging from his smile.

Suddenly, Ray broke out of his reverie. "Hey—you don't think I'm moving too fast, do you?"

Fraser frowned with a look at the street. "Well, it can hardly be said that you are obeying the speed limit, but compared to other—"

Ray looked incredulously at Fraser for a moment before he shook his head with a grin. "Fraser, I don't know who has less sex, me or you, but at least I still think about women. Is that better or worse?"

"It's an interesting question, Ray."

In Fraser's opinion, he was spending way too much time considering both, women and sex.

"So?"

"So what?" Fraser asked, bewildered.

"Do you think I'm rushing into this? –cos I know I haven't been seeing Luanne for such a long time and two times was under the pretence of work, but… well, we had one real date and that worked out fine, so I thought, you know, maybe I should call her again and ask her out tonight?"

Dief yipped from the backseat and it sounded a lot like laughter. Fraser turned around to look sternly at him.

"I think," Fraser flicked his knuckle over his eyebrow and pulled at his collar.

"Oh—whoa—it's that bad?" Ray looked at him with big eyes. "Jeez, you really don't like her, do ya?"

"It's not that, Ray, I—I just want you to be careful," Fraser tried to explain as reasonably as he could.

"Yeah… right…" Ray muttered.

Fraser opened his mouth to say something to make Ray understand, even though he himself wasn't sure if he could explain it better, but they had arrived at their destination and Ray was already halfway out of the car.

The interview with Mrs. Tucci was slightly more successful than the one with Mr. Mitchell's family. Mrs. Tucci could at least tell them that Harold Mitchell had been a friend of her husband's and when Mrs. Harker from next door came over to have dinner with Mrs. Tucci, she also remembered a phone conversation that Mr. Tucci was having last Monday.

At Mrs. Harker's mention of the phone call, Mrs. Tucci's face lit up and she nodded. Yes, her husband had answered the phone and agreed to do something for someone, but she hadn't asked and Mr. Tucci hadn't liked to talk about work, so she hadn't given it further notice.

They checked the list of phone calls and, sure enough, one call had been made from the Mitchell house to Mr. Tucci.

On the way back, Ray called Luanne Russell with a pointed look in Fraser's direction.

Once he had finished, Fraser tried to open the topic again.

"Ray, I really didn't mean to imply—"

"No, of course she has to be a bad fish. After all, I like her. How could she be a decent woman?"

"That's not at all what I meant. I was only trying—"

"Fraser, save it. I don't wanna hear it. I'll drop you off and then I'll see you tomorrow."

"As you wish," Fraser replied stiffly.

_I don't know what is wrong with me_, Fraser confessed to his journal a short while later. _I didn't mean to anger him. I just have a bad feeling about this… which is probably the reason I'm making such a fool of myself. There is no rational reason to object to Miss Russell and I shouldn't let my emotions run my head. I can't even explain why I don't like the thought of Ray pursuing her. If I can't explain it and there's no logical reason why he shouldn't, maybe I should keep my advice to myself. Dief remarked, this afternoon in the car, that I have 'territorial claims'— what utter nonsense! Ray is my friend and I wasn't trying to monopolize his time. I want Ray to find a new love, I just_, Fraser's hand hovered uselessly over the page. He just what? He scratched the I just out. _I will try and get some sleep and tomorrow this madness will come to a stop. _

The next morning, they went on a search for the last piece of information: why had the killer wanted Mr. Mitchell dead?

The answer was found fairly quickly when Ray got a hold of Mr. Mitchell's will. Ray whistled, impressed. "Phew… 1.7 million… how does a street vendor get almost two million bucks?"

"Well, he worked twelve hours a day for fifty years. That might account for it."

"Right," Ray looked lost in thought and Fraser couldn't help but wonder if his friend was considering that he had chosen the wrong profession. Ray shook himself. "So, okay, the guy's worth 1.7 million dollars and leaves everything to a guy nobody's seen for twenty years? Doesn't make any sense."

"He _was_ Mr. Mitchell's only son."

"Yeah, it's also rather fitting that his son should choose the very moment to return home to inherit loads of cash. Especially since a pretzel vendor doing the very same route his father should have taken gets killed by someone just a few days after he arrived. Strange coincidence? I don't think so."

Fraser had to admit that it all sounded a little too neat.

Dief whined and looked longingly at a street vendor who was busy grilling sausages.

"No, Dief, you can't have another—" The sight of a man who was sitting on a bench only a few feet away from the street vendor and holding a newspaper distracted Fraser for a second.

"Excuse me," Fraser approached the man. "Could I borrow your newspaper for a second?"

The man, apparently confused by Fraser's uniform, handed him the paper with a startled nod.

"Ray, you should take a look at this."

Ray came up and looked over his shoulder. "... the intended murder victim appears to be another street vendor by the name of Harold Mitchell. Did Mr. Mitchell know about the attempt on his life and sent Mr. Tucci knowingly to his death? The investigation is still ongoing—" Ray murmured, getting louder the further he read. "What the—how—who—!" Ray took the paper from Fraser's hands and skimmed the rest of the article.

"Ray, can you think of anyone with whom you talked who might have used the information?" Fraser phrased it as carefully as possible.

"What? –Yeah, I mean, Mrs. Tucci – obviously, but she wouldn't go to the police, same goes for Mitchell's family, and... no... she wouldn't—" Ray stared at Fraser with a look as if he had just swallowed something bitter. So Ray had come to the same conclusion Fraser had.

"Ray, it doesn't necessarily mean it was her."

"But she works for the papers... and you think Luanne might've used this—used me—to get the story she has been looking for..."

"As I said, it 'might' have been her. We could be wrong, though."

"You thought so all along, didn't you? That's why you didn't want me to go out with her?"

"I have to admit that nothing as definite had formed in my mind, but I—"

"Yeah, but you think it's her... who else could it be?"

"We don't know that yet," but Fraser's heart wasn't in it and he feared that his feelings might be clouding his judgement somewhat... but it _would_ explain his uneasiness...

Ray tried to shake it off and turned his mind back to their investigation, but now and then a dark look would flit over his face and Fraser guessed that his friend's mind was still occupied with the newspaper article.

They had agreed that it would be best to check the information on Robert Mitchell next. The search wasn't exactly difficult. A boy by the same name had run away from Chicago and turned up in a couple of different cities over the past years; last known address: New Orleans, LA, Elysian Fields Avenue.

They found his place of work, a big computer company, and Ray called only to be informed that Robert Mitchell had quit his work to return home about two weeks ago. As far as the boss knew, he got a letter from his father, saying that he was dying of cancer and wanted his son to come back home, something about inheriting his place.

"Huh... well, that fits the story so far..." Ray looked at Fraser for inspiration and noticed that Fraser's face was riveted on the computer screen.

"What? What is it?"

"I think..." Fraser bit his lip and zoomed in on the picture of a newspaper article from two years ago. "Ray, who is that man in the picture?"

Ray took a closer look. "Uh, it's Robert Mitchell, it says so right underneath the picture: Robert Mitchell at the annual gathering of the— I can't make the rest out, a company something. Why?"

Fraser looked thoughtful.

"Is that the same man you have met in Mr. Mitchell's living room?"

"...sure," Ray said after a moment's hesitation. "I mean, picture's black and white and it's two years old, but I'd say it's the same man."

"I don't think so, Ray," Fraser studied the picture again. "This man is at least shorter than the one we've met – look at Robert Mitchell's shoes in comparison to the men next to him. They are all larger than his. The man we've met easily reached my own height. And it seems... that Robert Mitchell is left-handed, since he is holding his glass in his left hand."

Ray stared at him in confusion. "So? The guy at Mitchell's house didn't write anything down, how would you know that he isn't left-handed?"

"Remember when he leaned back against the glass cabinet? He fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt and he used his right hand for it. He might be fooling everyone by using his right hand when he is conscious of it, but this was a nervous gesture, an unconscious one."

"Uh, okay—wait! The aunt said that none of them knew he had cancer, right?"

"Correct," Fraser smiled as Ray caught up with him.

"And the boss said that Robert left to be with his dying dad— that means that Mitchell told his son... which means the guy we met must be some kind of fake! I mean, why should he have lied?" Ray did a little victory drum-roll on the edge of the desk with his fingers. "Fraser, I could kiss you," Ray grinned at him.

For a second Fraser was speechless. Feeling suddenly warm, he pulled at his collar. "Ah," Fraser didn't no how to respond to that.

Ray laughed and clapped him on the back before getting up. "No, I mean, symbolically or something."

They arrested the man known as Robert Mitchell on charges of impersonation and the murder of Mr. Tucci. His fingerprints revealed him to be Steve Hubbell – an acquaintance, if one could call him that, of Robert Mitchell. They had been together on the same bowling team in New Orleans.

Ray glared at the man. "So how come you died over a week ago?"

"Maybe you are confusing me with someone else?" The former Robert Mitchell spat.

"Yeah? Think your fingerprints are lying, too? Because they say you're Steve Hubbell, deceased. According to your fingers, you broke your neck on your way home about—hey Fraser, how far from Chicago to New Orleans?"

"About ."

"Thanks. So you died almost a thousand miles away from here, neat. Know what else? There's a gun registered under that name, a gun that just so happens to match the exact type that killed Mr. Tucci. Wanna know what I think? I think you better cough up the truth or the charges are gonna pile up so high you can thank your lucky stars if there's no death sentence waiting for you at the end."

Fraser could watch the young man's resolve crumble under Ray's aggressiveness.

"DID YOU KILL ROBERT MITCHELL?"

"NO—Oh, God, you have to believe me. It—it was an accident. We were out drinking and Robert was completely smashed. He told me about his inheritance, almost 2 million dollars he said—he didn't say that his dad was going to die… God…he hardly spoke about his dad. All he could talk about was money. I don't think there was much love lost between father and son," Steve sobbed into his hands. "All he said was that his dad wasn't going to live long… I thought he just meant he was old…"

"But that doesn't explain why Robert ended up a corpse at the end of the night."

"We were drunk… we were staggering home… after a while it was just Robert and me…" Steve took a shaking breath before he continued. "Robert climbed up this wall, he was doing this movie impression, hell, I don't know. It was fun at that time. He was balancing on it, it wasn't that high, maybe 10 feet… and then he over-balanced and fell… I can still hear the crunch as he hit the ground. At first I thought he was just trying to scare me. But then he didn't move…"

"And then you swapped ID's, exchanged clothes, and then you left. And when the police came they thought he was you," Fraser finished the narration for Steve. The man nodded.

"We looked so much alike, we could've been brothers. We used to joke about it. I thought I could go and inherit the fortune. Robert said his father hadn't seen him for over twenty years, I knew it could work. I stayed in New Orleans until I heard that someone from our team had identified Robert... as me, I mean... I guess he recognized the clothes."

"And it worked just fine. So why shoot Mr. Tucci then?" Ray asked.

"I knew it wouldn't work forever. The old man was dragging up all those old stories I didn't know about— I didn't know he had cancer, God... I spent a few days watching the route he was taking with his stupid pretzels and his sister confirmed that it's always the same, so I…" The man broke into renewed sobs.

"So you shot him."

"I couldn't risk that he found me out. I—I have debts… I owe some very dangerous people. People who had followed me to Chicago—I don't know how, but they knew that it wasn't me that had died—I needed the money…"

A little while later, Ray and Fraser were outside of the interrogation room. "That's that then. So Mr. Tucci only died because he took the offered chance of doing a bigger route. How could that guy shoot when he wasn't even sure that it was the right victim?"

"Well, he was certain that it was Mr. Mitchell. In the dark the difference was almost impossible to tell."

"I'm not looking forward to the paperwork on this one," Ray muttered.

Fraser's cheek dimpled slightly with the effort not to smile at his friend.

"Should I drop you off at the consulate?"

"No, thank you kindly. I'll have a short talk with Lieutenant Welsh before I go. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you."

Ray left and Fraser made his way along the familiar corridors of the 27th to Welsh's office. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," was the gruff reply from inside.

"Ah, Constable."

"Thank you again for letting me access your interrogation room. I know that it would've been the responsibility of the 17th since the case belonged to their district, but the 27th was on our way and Steve Hubbell behaved violently enough that I feared he would resort to desperate measures at any moment. Your cooperation was most welcome."

Welsh looked long and hard at Fraser.

"Listen, I only did this because I know you're a good officer and I know that we have a lot to thank you for, but we can't let you run around investigating without an official approval behind your back."

"No, I fully understand, sir. I know that this partnership is not official and that the proper authorities are, as far as I understood, not even aware that it exists, but Ray will take care of the paperwork. I can assure you that the 27th will not be held responsible."

Welsh sighed in resignation. "Constable... I know from experience that arguing with you is—

frankly, it's a waste of breath. I know that these last few weeks have been very hard on you and if I could help with the matter I would. As long as we see this through, Ray Vecchio will be safe and I hope that this is enough of an incentive."

Fraser frowned, slightly puzzled. "I am aware of that and I can assure you that I would never do anything that would compromise his safety."

Welsh pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Good, good. It's good to see you again, Constable."

Fraser left with the vague feeling that he had missed something.

"Come on, Dief, let's go home."

Back at the consulate, Fraser tried to get his thoughts sorted without much effect.

"…kiss me…" Fraser murmured to himself, barely above a whisper, once he had made himself comfortable in his office. He felt his cheeks flush and bit his lip. Whatever had possessed Ray to joke about something like that?

Fraser changed into his long johns a little while later without having found an answer to that question. He could still see the way Ray's lips had spread into a grin as he said it. The mischievous smile as he had watched Fraser flounder for an appropriate answer.

Fraser tried to let it rest, but Ray's voice came back to haunt him again and again whenever he let his mind wander. Really, it was ridiculous that he should give it that much thought. It had merely been a joke. Clearly another bout of Ray's teasing.

Suddenly, Dief's tail was thumping against the floor and his gaze was fixed on the door. Confused, Fraser turned around to watch the entry as well. A noise like—someone had just entered the hallway. Fraser reached out to open the door only to have Ray half-falling into his office.

Fraser's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Ah, hello Ray."

"Uh, hey Fraser… do you—do you wanna go out and grab something to eat with me?"

Perplexed, Fraser looked at his watch.

"Ray, it's almost ten."

"Oh." Ray seemed to really look at him then. "Oh shit. Were you already on your way to bed or something?" Ray asked with a startled look at Fraser's long johns.

Fraser noticed the tightness around Ray's eyes and the lines of worry etched onto his forehead.

"Is everything alright? Has something happened?"

Ray sighed and seemed to deflate a little. "Don't worry, I should—perhaps I should go, let you get some sleep." Ray turned around to leave and Fraser grabbed his arm before he managed to move out of the doorway.

"Don't be silly. Come in, please, take a seat."

It spoke volumes that Ray let himself be pulled into the room without another word. He collapsed into Fraser's office chair with a small sigh.

"What happened, Ray?"

"It's over."

Fraser could think of at least 3 things to which this statement could refer.

"What is?"

"Me and Luanne…" Ray shrugged uncomfortably. "It's my fault… I was a total idiot."

"I'm sure—"

"Don't try to make me feel better, okay? I went over to her house and we had a glass of wine… we just sat together on the couch and we talked and…" Ray's cheeks took on a bit of color. "Anyway, after a while she started talking about the case and I thought of that newspaper article and I got suspicious. She was real curious, too. We ended arguing about it… Fraser," Ray raised tormented eyes up to him. "She does the culture part for the papers, about gallery openings and classical concerts and stuff…"

"I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser said sincerely.

"Not your fault… the whole thing turned into a discussion about trust and what kind of person I thought she was and one thing led to another and at some point I was on the other side of the door," Ray ruffled his hair and sighed. "I did some research; do you know who wrote those articles? It was the neighbor… Mrs. Tucci's neighbor, Mrs. Harker. Seems it wasn't just sympathy that made her come over all the time."

"Ray, I—" What could he say to make it better? Wasn't it at least partly his fault for instilling his own suspicions into Ray's head? Suspicions that had been completely unfounded as it turned out. Why then had he had such a bad feeling about her?

"It's me, Fraser… I just…" Ray gestured helplessly around for a moment. "I always have to break everything good that happens to me."

Fraser looked long and carefully at Ray. There was nothing he could say that would make it alright. And at the moment nothing he said would convince Ray of the opposite.

"Ray… would you care for a game of cards?"

Ray looked up, surprised, and for a second he didn't say anything and then his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. "Yeah… I'd like that"

When Ray left an hour later in slightly better spirits than how he had arrived, Fraser could still see that half-smile in front of his eyes. He felt hurt on his friend's behalf and an ocean of sympathy as he watched Ray walk to his car with slightly hunched shoulders. There was also a hint of guilt nagging at him, but it was useless to deny the most prominent emotion of them all.

He was relieved.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

Words: ~ 7.260

Rating: PG

Fraser leaned back in his chair and read over what he had just written. Seeing it on paper didn't make it any easier, though. It only made it more real.

_It can't be. It's simply not possible. I must be deranged – as people have assured me I am time and again. When Ray told me that he wasn't seeing Luanne anymore I felt relieved... yes, almost ridiculously pleased. God, I feel awful that I could find satisfaction in Ray's plight at all. But the feeling was so strong that I was rather helpless against it. _

_Why—why should I be relieved that Ray is not dating her anymore? Why shouldn't I want my friend to be romantically involved with a beautiful young woman, who has shown much admiration for him, and who had, after all, been nothing but true to him? _

_There's only one possible reason—well, maybe two, but I don't think I am suffering from a personality disorder. The only possible explanation that would fit the fact that I felt relief at hearing that Ray is no longer romantically attached is... jealousy. And I can't fool myself for even one second to believe that I was jealous of Ray. I am quite confident that my emotional state will not suffer due to Luanne Russell's absence. Imagining that Ray might leave on the other hand... _

_This is unbearable. I know that I said I had given Ray's thoughts on being open for emotional involvement some consideration, but I hadn't meant that I wanted to start looking now. Or so close. And I wasn't!_

_It's not possible. I've always known that my heart is not to be trusted if left to its own devices. All I need is some time, and some distance. And then I will be able to look at Ray and see nothing but a good man and a dear friend. _

The next morning, after Fraser had finished his guard duty, Ray called.

"Hey buddy, are you free to do some real police work?"

Obviously, Chicago's crime syndicates didn't think much of Fraser's plan of time and distance. He was sorely tempted to make an excuse, but he couldn't help it... he really wanted to see Ray again.

Despite Ray's cheerful demeanor it was quite obvious that he was still subdued. The smile seldom reached his eyes and instead of Ray's constant running commentary on anything and nothing, he was rather quiet. He seemed to be lost in thought. It wasn't in Fraser's nature to pry, but maybe all Ray needed was some encouragement to breach the topic.

They were on their way back from the scene of a break-in and Fraser was keenly aware of how close they were walking. The need to break the silence was overwhelming.

"Ah, Ray… you seem very preoccupied today. If I can help you in any way, you know I would."

Ray looked a little rueful. "Yeah, sorry... I'm just, you know, thinking if I could've done things with Luanne any differently. Truth is I think it was bound to fail."

"Why is that?" Fraser was honestly curious.

Ray laughed, a little embarrassed. "You've seen her... I mean, wow. Probably a 9 on the scale if I ever saw one, beautiful... whereas..." Ray managed to bring his hair in yet more disarray before he shrugged.

"Whereas?" Fraser prompted, mystified.

Ray hesitated for a second and then nodded, almost to himself, apparently reaching a decision.

"Can I ask you something? ...do you find me attractive?"

For a second, Fraser was sure he was walking down stairs and that he had just missed a step. If he had to identify the emotion that was skipping through his heart he'd say it was akin to the feeling you got when you knew you've been caught at something you shouldn't be doing.

His startled silence must've given the wrong impression because Ray's voice sounded a lot smaller when he asked again.

"Well, find me attractive?"

Surely it was all in his own head. Ray couldn't be asking... no, he must've misunderstood.

"In what sense?"

Ray looked at him as if Fraser wasn't speaking the same language. "In the sense of, you know," he laughed, slightly embarrassed, "being a woman."

"Do I think you're an attractive woman?" Fraser was blithering, just buying time, and he knew that he was making a fool of himself; his mind simply couldn't get past the fact that Ray would ask him something like that.

"Heh, no," Ray shook his head slightly. "I'm not the woman—you're the woman."

"I'm the woman?" What exactly was Ray trying to achieve with this line of reasoning?

"You pretend that you're a woman, okay?" Ray said in a soft voice. "Find me attractive?"

Ray's gaze was penetrating and Fraser had never been able to lie. All or nothing then.

"Very much so, yes." Fraser only now realized that he had taken his hands behind his back, almost as if he were at parade rest – his fallback position when he needed to feel in control. Thankfully, he didn't think Ray had figured that out yet.

Ray looked pleasantly surprised before he hastily added, "You're not just saying that?"

Fraser felt hot and his brow was itching uncomfortably.

"Well...I'm not really qualified to judge, Ray."

Ray snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, maybe that's the reason. Maybe the women see something you don't? A women thing, something that works like a big 'keep away' sign?"

"Ray, I'm sure—" He sure what? He was sure that Ray would find someone else? Dear God, the last episode had been bad enough. Fraser wasn't sure if he could stand watching a second time... but he would have to, right? Sooner or later.

"Nah, don't worry. I appreciate it and everything, but it's fine. I was rushing into it anyway... if I had taken the time to get to know her none of this would've happened. I'll get over it," Ray grinned in a reasonably good imitation of his usual self. "She wasn't right for me anyway." He looked thoughtful before he smiled at Fraser again.

Fraser felt a tug at his own lips. Ray had no idea how much charisma, how much vibrancy he possessed. Fraser could almost see the danger flashing as warning signs in front of his eyes at the route his thoughts were taking.

He needed something to distract himself, something to keep such thoughts at bay, something—oh, good.

"Ray, quick, there is a woman two blocks from here who is being robbed as we speak." Fraser cocked his head to the side to be sure that he had traced the scream of the woman to the right source and started running.

"You—uh—what?—Hey—Fraser!" Ray looked around in confusion for a second before he sprinted after his friend.

Ray was still angry at him when they said goodbye. Really, how should Fraser have known that the man would be willing to aim a loaded gun at his chest? Yes, of course, there might have been a less provocative way of getting the man to surrender, but it seemed the quickest possible way at that time to just confront him head-on.

Honestly, as if Fraser had been looking for trouble on purpose. Well, it had been a very convenient moment, but that was beside the point. There had been a crime and it was their duty as officers of the law to prevent it.

Of course, the handbag hadn't been worth a human life. But Fraser had not tried to get the handbag back so much as he had acted on principle. It didn't matter how much worth the actual object of the theft possessed. It was still a theft and he had the means to catch the thief.

Well, he had tried to explain it to Ray, but apparently he hadn't been very successful at it.

But when Fraser called him the next day to make another attempt at explaining himself, Ray sounded like his usual self.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ray dismissed his elaboration on the right of the Chicago citizens to feel safe. "That's just the Canadian way of life," Ray sighed. "Or it's something in the Canadian water," Ray muttered and Fraser wasn't sure if Ray was still talking to him.

"I can assure you it meets all the requirements. The last test results showed—"

"Not important, Frase—" There was shouting in the background and Fraser heard Ray curse quietly. "Gotta go Fraser, duty bellows."

"Goodbye, Ray." Fraser did feel better even though he still felt as if Ray hadn't fully understood what he had been trying to explain.

A few days later, they were on their way to grab some dinner when Ray got a call. Rumors and whispers about a gun shipment were keeping the city of Chicago abuzz with activity. Ray had been following leads all through yesterday and today. Almost all of them had been false, though.

Ray put his cell away and sighed. "Looks like I gotta skip dinner... sorry, buddy."

"I understand. Can I be of assistance?"

"Nah," Ray shook his head. "I have to talk to an old acquaintance of mine. Chances are he won't talk to me if you're there."

"Of course. I hope it will be more rewarding this time."

"Yeah… me too."

Fraser's dinner was uneventful, but his thoughts kept returning to Ray. There had to be another explanation for his emotional state, for his… feelings for Ray. Ray was his friend and maybe Ray's kindness had caused him to feel disproportionately possessive of the other man.

And of course Ray was very attractive... that was nothing but the truth, but that didn't mean that Fraser had to put it into a context that wasn't… well, that wasn't 'buddies' as Ray would phrase it.

"Come on, Dief, let's go for a walk," Fraser said. Maybe walking would help him clear his head. Dief bounded joyfully out of the door and Fraser smiled at his companion. At least one of them didn't seem to have a worry in the world.

"It could be a simple reaction to my loneliness…" Fraser mused as they turned the corner of yet another block. It was fairly warm and it was still bright out; the strange half-light of late summer that always deceived you into thinking that it was still early evening.

Even a city like Chicago looked cleaner and brighter in the summer.

"… but I haven't been lonely lately…" Fraser watched the water of the Chicago River pass underneath the bridge. People were milling about, couples hand in hand, office workers who had worked overtime, a young woman with her dog… .

The truth was, even now, he simply wanted Ray close. He would've liked to touch Ray's expressive hands to find out if they were as warm as he thought they were, he wanted to… Fraser felt his face heat and he pulled at his collar… he wanted to know if Ray's lips were soft the way they looked when Ray smiled his easy, carefree smile. Fraser even harboured an urge to run his fingers through Ray's hair to discover if it would bristle or feel soft against the skin of his fingertips.

Fraser's feet carried him further and further, as if his thoughts needed the space. This wanting to touch Ray... that was a lot more than simple jealousy, Fraser had to admit. With surprise Fraser took in his surroundings. In awe, he stared at the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block. Without knowing it, his feet had carried him to Ray's home.

Fraser straightened his hat and walked briskly past it. He would not give in to these foolish impulses.

Dief whined in inquiry.

"No, we will not visit Ray… what would I say? That I was just in the neighborhood?" Besides, Fraser thought with a small jolt, he's not home. Sometimes he cursed his knack for observation. He hadn't intended to look for a light in the window. He just happened to have noticed it without any effort on his part.

They had left Ray's apartment two blocks behind when a shot rang out.

"Dief!" Fraser shouted and took off in the direction of the noise. The feeling was exhilarating. Despite the worry that people's lives were at risk the thrill of the chase pushed every other thought out of his mind. It was a welcome distraction.

As it turned out, the shot came from one of the larger convenience stores another block down the street. Fraser managed to use the element of surprise to tackle one of the two robbers. Their momentum caused them to fall behind one of the big shelves which, according to the neatly stacked products left and right, clearly happened to be the laundry detergent aisle.

Using his bulk Fraser pinned the man to the floor and secured his hands with his lanyard.

Not a second too late. An instant later the other hooded figure appeared at the mouth of the aisle with a gun pointed at Fraser.

"Get away from him," the man shouted, his voice shaking slightly. "GET AWAY FROM HIM OR I'LL BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF!" The man shouted again.

Before Fraser could even move a muscle, a safety catch on a gun was released and a blond head with experimental hair appeared from behind the shelf.

"You hold it right there!" Ray aimed his gun at the robber. "Drop it."

The robber hesitated. "I SAID drop it! You harm so much as the buckle on his hat and you're dead meat, understood?"

The gun clattered to the ground and with a few efficient moves, Ray had the second robber in hand-cuffs.

Fraser heard the siren of an approaching police car. No, make that two. The shots must've alerted the whole neighborhood.

"Your timing is really remarkable, Ray."

"You were just lucky that I was on my way home. I heard shooting, so here I am. What I didn't expect to find was my partner being held at gun-point. You wanna explain that, Fraser?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow in confusion at Ray's biting tone.

"It's much the same as your explanation, I'm afraid. Dief and were taking a walk when I heard gunshots. So I went to help."

"No, Fraser. It's not the same. See? I got a gun. I radioed for backup before I went in. Why didn't you call the police? Why didn't you at least call me? You went in there, with no weapon, no backup, no nothing!"

"Really, Ray, you make it sound so unreasonable. People could've died while I waited for assistance."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their enforcement. It wasn't the radioed backup, just a patrol car that had reacted to the shots. They left the robbers in their care to take them back to the police department.

Once they were outside, Ray took a deep breath. He looked at Fraser with a worried little frown that was etched between his eyebrows.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Ray. I'm fine," Fraser said. After all, this was the merest infatuation and it would pass. And if he thought of his uncle, Tiberius, insanity probably ran in his family. He shouldn't be overly surprised by this development. He was just a little single-minded at the moment, no need to complicate things for Ray.

Ray didn't look convinced.

"How did the meeting with your informant go?" Fraser tried to change the topic.

"Infor—oh, you mean Sonny. Uh, he's dead."

Fraser raised his eyebrows. "I thought he told you to meet him?"

"Yeah, yeah, I came, we met, he went to the can, he didn't come back, and I found him dead a couple of minutes later. No idea, really. He and another guy were having a go at each other when I came into the bar, some kind of beef over a wager. I took the other guy back to the station, but his hands hadn't touched the knife that was sticking out of Sonny's gut."

"Did you get any information from Sonny before he died?"

"No—he kept talking about 'Nautilus,' whatever that's supposed to mean."

"Nautilus? Ray, it's a name—frankly, I've always thought it's a legend, but according to some there is an arms' dealer behind that name. Now, no one has any idea who 'Nautilus' is, but if that's who is behind the latest gossip then every bit of caution is applicable."

"Huh... okay... so if we find Nautilus, we find out where and when that arms deal is going down."

"Precisely. However, I would not underestimate Nautilus. Whoever hides behind this persona has successfully eluded the law these last 20 years."

Fraser tried to concentrate his thoughts on finding Nautilus; however, thinking about their current case always brought him back to thinking about Ray, which in turn left him in dire need of a distraction.

"Sir, is there anything else I could do?"

Thatcher tried to hide her surprise, but Fraser's earnest eagerness at taking on more work took her aback.

"Surely your tasks are sufficient to keep you occupied, Constable?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "Well, yes, that is—ah, I'd be happy to be a little more occupied. I wouldn't mind taking on additional chores," he explained. How could he tell her that he needed less time to think? He needed a respite from his own mind.

"That—I'll see what I can do," the Inspector told him with a suspicious-looking frown. Fraser sighed inwardly. Why did everyone always suspect that it would lead to havoc when he wanted to help?

He knew that he was trying Ray's patience, but it wasn't anything he did on purpose. He was just so busy not thinking about Ray that his whole being was on the look-out for something else to occupy his time and this being Chicago there was always some crime to distract him if he was listening hard enough or looking close enough.

_I know that my behavior when it comes to crime is slightly exacerbated by my need to distract myself from thinking about Ray – or about my situation with Ray. There really is no excuse for it, but I am completely unable to help myself. It is not a conscious desire of mine to get into trouble... it simply happens whenever I try not to think. Ray has been enquiring about my recklessness more and more adamantly lately, but I can't bring myself to tell him. I couldn't bear to hear Ray's kind words of apology... or worse, the awkwardness between us that has to result from such a confession. I don't want to impose my feelings on Ray and I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable or obligated to me as a friend in any way. For all of these reasons I keep silent whenever my eyes meet Ray's questioning gaze. It is really for the sake of our friendship that I keep this from Ray. I am sure that with a bit of effort and some concentration I will be able to master myself. Until then I just have to stay occupied._

Fraser closed his notebook and sighed. He had written this entry as a sort of reminder before he was to meet Ray to investigate some rather straightforward jewelry theft. There came a knock on the door, but before Fraser even had time to stow his writing supplies away Turnbull had already bustled into the room with... oh dear. Fraser grabbed his notebook and stashed it into the breast pocket of his serge before Turnbull could reach his desk, armed with a feather-duster and Lemon Pledge.

Constable Turnbull was a real hazard when he went about his cleaning duties. He was remarkably thorough and very devoted, but it was better not to get in his way. He tended to be a little single-minded when he was in the middle of dusting. Fraser didn't even want to think about the incident with the Russian ambassador and the pine-scented floor polisher.

Ray was in a cautiously good mood when Fraser arrived. Well, Fraser supposed that Ray took it as a good sign that he didn't encounter Fraser already surrounded by people carrying guns by the time they met.

Ray's good mood didn't last long, though, when Fraser found out that the suspect in that jewelry heist was nothing but a red herring. The real culprits were the purse-snatcher and his lawyer. Well, the supposed-to-be-purse-snatcher and the-supposed-to-be-lawyer, anyway.

Really, it hadn't been Fraser's intention to have a stand-off with the two culprits – and with one of them aiming a knife at him – in the parking lot of the 27th precinct... and Fraser didn't even want to go into the explanation of why they had again ended up at the 2-7 instead of Ray's district.

Ray was out of ammunition; Fraser had counted the rounds before Ray had even opened his mouth to tell him that he had no bullets left. He tried to keep the attention of the lawyer – and with him the knife – trained on himself. He heard from behind some empty crates Ray rant about getting behind some cover as well, but Fraser knew that he wouldn't have enough time anyway. It was better to see this through.

"You want this knife?" The bald man who had posed as the lawyer asked.

"I would appreciate it, yes." It was impossible to tell what was going on behind the dark sun-glasses the man was wearing. Next to him, the purse-snatcher twitched nervously.

"Here, it's yours—"

Fraser was prepared to catch the hilt, but at the very last moment, the man switched hands. And Fraser realized that this would change the angle of entrance and that there was nothing he could do to change that. He felt a dull push as the knife hit him, but before he could puzzle out why he didn't feel a stab, let alone pain, Ray gave a strangled cry behind him.

Fraser spun around. Ray—he must've left his cover to protect Fraser when the knife was thrown. He had sunk down on one knee, throwing a knife away that had been embedded in his jacket.

"Dear God, Ray..." Fraser fell to his knees at Ray's side to have a look at the wound. A second knife, how could he have missed the second knife? The nervousness of the purse-snatcher... he should've anticipated something like that. He hadn't seen the second knife. His lack of observation had almost... "Ray, let me see your wound."

Ray gasped for breath. "It's—calm down, it's just a scratch."

Fraser's fingers were busy pushing Ray's jacket aside and keeping Ray's hands away from the wound. There was a dark stain above the sixth rib, coloring Ray's gray shirt in— "Ray, it's blue."

Fraser, confused, looked up into Ray's eyes. Ray managed a grin. "Pen. Breast pocket of my jacket. Told you it's just a scratch... pity, I really liked that pen." Ray pulled up his shirt and he was right. Even though Fraser could make out a small gash of several centimetres, it couldn't be deep. There was no blood; the wound was only covered in the ink from Ray's pen. Relief in bone-numbing intensity flooded through Fraser.

"The perp!" Ray shouted and used Fraser to push himself into a standing position. The two men had almost reached the gate that led out of the parking lot. Even running, Ray wouldn't be able to catch them.

A growl resounded suddenly and Ray couldn't keep his grin in as Dief shot around the corner to chase the perps right back into Ray's waiting arms.

"Good work, Dief." The bald man took a step away again and Ray snarled. He raised his gun over his head. "On the ground—or I will beat you to death with this empty gun." The effect of that threat was really remarkable to witness. Watching the two criminals cower on their knees, Fraser really saw the power behind Ray's rather creatively phrased punishments.

Fraser threw Dief a sidelong glance. "Yes, it was rather good of you to join us after all. You know, I am not allowing you to accompany me to the police station everyday so you can collect donuts—we do have duties."

Ray laughed and bent down to ruffle Dief's fur. "Don't worry, he's just in a sour mood because he misjudged the knife-thing. That's gotta be worth a red-letter day in the calendar."

Ray straightened again and all of a sudden Ray's inquisitive gaze was solely focused on Fraser's eyes. There was a hint of playfulness to the smile that was tugging at the corner of Ray's lips and Fraser swallowed hard.

Ray reached out, until his fingertips almost touched Fraser's forehead. Fraser's heart was pounding and the sudden need to deny _everything _wasoverwhelming. It was—too much... there was too much he couldn't say and he couldn't let Ray see and... he jerked away from the touch.

"Oh." Ray's eyes hardened. His hand fell uselessly back to his side. The relieved playfulness of a moment ago had evaporated and Fraser had a strong urge to hang his head in misery. Instead he straightened his shoulders and pushed his hands behind his back.

At that moment, Huey and Dewey appeared around the corner with drawn guns to investigate the commotion outside. Fraser helped them take the two criminals into custody. By the time he was finished reporting what had happened, Ray was gone. Fraser swallowed a lump of bitterness that he could still feel lodged somewhere in the area where his heart should have been.

Ray... I'm so sorry... Fraser thought as he watched the spot where his friend had been mere minutes ago.

Fraser thought about Ray's almost-touch all the way back to the Consulate. He had over-reacted. Ray had only been fooling around. The longer he thought about it the more convinced he felt, that Ray had simply been joking. The way he had held his hand... he had probably only tried to take a mock-fever. Fraser almost smiled so clearly could he imagine the words Ray would've said. _Fraser, you've got a fever! No way did you miss that knife. What—you sick or something? Quick, call an ambulance_. _The world is ending_.

And Fraser had ruined it all by making a mountain out of a molehill. Did he honestly think Ray would _see_ the moment he touched Fraser? Did he really believe that his feelings for Ray could be read so plainly on his features that a simple touch was enough to expose them? It was ridiculous. All his trying to protect Ray had only ended up hurting him. Fraser stifled a sigh. Why could he never get these things right?

Back at the Consulate, he opened his serge only to halt his movement in its tracks as he came across a rip in the fabric. Just a small one, a bit underneath of his heart as if... the knife! He had forgotten all about it when Ray had been hurt. Confused, he realized that his Henley didn't have a scratch. That at least explained why he hadn't felt any pain. The pocket! Of course, how could he have forgotten about the notebook in his pocket?

Fraser opened the button on the breast pocket and pulled his notebook out. There, right where the knife had hit him was a small gash. The knife had penetrated the leather cover and cut into quite a few pages more. Fraser's ill-executed attempt to catch the knife must've dislodged it before he had time to realize it.

There was no question whether the notebook had saved him; judging from the depth of the gash Fraser's chest wouldn't have fared half as well as the leather cover. Still, he felt relieved when he placed the notebook back in its resting place in the drawer of his desk. There was so much inside of it by now that he felt childishly protective of it. He knew it was irrational; it was just an object, after all. But human emotions, especially those triggered by sentimental reasons, were hardly ever logical.

Fraser was almost afraid to see Ray again. His friend hadn't called since he vanished from the crime scene and Fraser feared that he would have some explaining to do the next time they met. The situation had gotten wildly out of hand; Fraser had no difficulty admitting that.

Instead of getting better these feelings he had for Ray had only gotten stronger the more he had tried to repress them. There was no solution to this problem. It was selfish, but there was no way that Fraser could give up being Ray's friend. So no matter how much Ray deserved his honesty, in this point Fraser just couldn't confide in him. He would only end up hurting himself by confessing; he wasn't ready to let Ray go.

Lost in thought Fraser hadn't seen the man coming out of the shipping office. They bumped shoulders as the man stepped into the street.

"Oh, pardon me," Fraser excused himself.

"Watch where you're going," the man muttered, shoving quickly past Fraser.

Bewildered, Fraser looked back. How odd, he could've sworn he'd seen that man before.

"Did you recognize him?" He asked Dief.

The wolf barked.

"I didn't think so."

Fraser had almost reached the curb when the memory hit him. The FBI's Most Wanted List, second picture to the right. A major arms deal about to go down and one of the most looked for perpetrators known to the federal bureau appears at a shipping office in Chicago— that could not be a coincidence.

Fraser turned around on his heel and followed in the direction the man had taken. It didn't take Fraser long to find the rather generously proportioned Black gentleman again. He followed at a discreet distance.

They were walking in the direction of the docks! A while later Fraser watched the man enter an apparently abandoned warehouse.

A warehouse that seemed to get a lot of visitors for a derelict building with boarded-up windows, Fraser mused as another well-known face from the Wanted List entered the building.

After watching for several hours Fraser was fairly certain that this had to do with the gun shipment. There were three men in total in that warehouse, and each one of them had been convicted for smuggling or dealing with weapons. But taking the risk of becoming active in more or less plain view... that meant... the arms deal had to be close.

Ray had probably checked with the harbor control. There had to be a ship that fit all the criteria. And he needed to get closer to that warehouse. Now was not the time to let personal feelings interfere with his work.

From the nearest payphone, Fraser called Ray.

"Ray, hello. This is Constable Benton Fraser speak—"

"Hello is enough, Fraser," Ray sounded winded. "Listen, I checked the cargo ships—something's fishy. There's a ship with a crew that's got a rap sheet as long as my arm. I mean it; each and every one on that boat has done time. And here's one more thing, the ship? It's called the Robert Mackenzie—"

A look of astonishment flittered over Fraser's face. But the Robert Mackenzie...

"It sank, Fraser. The damn ship sank in 1969."

Right, Fraser remembered the story. It got caught in a gale known as the Witch of November. The Robert Mackenzie was carrying 28,110 long tons of high-sulfur coal bound for the steel mills in Detroit… Captain Phillips' last transmission read "32 down on the Robert Mackenzie".

"It's a fake!" Ray continued. "A damn fake. I looked into the registration and turns out it's Russian. I do not know how they get the arms over the border, but the damn thing sails from a Canadian port. That's gotta be our ship or I'll eat your hat. Now all we need to know is where the deal is supposed to go down. I know where the ship is gonna dock, but I don't think they'll be stupid enough to make the exchange on board."

"I know where it will take place. That's why I've called you."

"Huh?"

"I'm at the docks. There is an abandoned warehouse—well, lately it hasn't been abandoned. In fact, three of the most dangerous criminals of the FBI's Most Wanted List are currently employing it as their hideout."

"Stay where you are. Give me the directions; I'll be right there."

True to his word, Ray arrived at the docks less than twenty minutes later. Ray handed Fraser a coffee without so much as a word and Fraser wasn't sure if that was meant as an apology for Ray's abrupt departure after the knife incident or if Ray's silence was the important part of the message which would mean that he was getting the silent treatment.

He couldn't exactly blame Ray for it. On the other hand, Ray really had no reason to be so upset about Fraser's recent behavior. Fraser had only done what any officer of the law would've done in his position. It was only that the average officer didn't get into half as many conflicts involving loaded weapons as Fraser had lately.

They kept watching the warehouse while Ray filled Fraser in on the missing information. The ship was supposed to arrive early the next morning and Ray radioed for backup. All that was left to do was keep an eye on the warehouse to make sure that nothing happened before then.

It was going to be a long night.

It was impossible to conduct the surveillance from the relative comfort of Ray's car; it was too conspicuous and there was no parking opportunity as close as they needed to be to monitor the activity inside of the building. It wasn't terribly cold yet, but Fraser realized with sudden surprise that the summer had come and gone. Ray was wearing a light leather coat over his black t-shirt and Fraser hadn't even noticed until now that his serge wasn't uncomfortable to wear anymore in the current temperatures.

They were huddled close to each other on the roof of the building next to the warehouse. Trying to stay in the shadows wasn't the most comfortable position, but it was the ideal location to catch at least a glimpse through the grimy warehouse windows. The light was dim and flickering – an oil lamp in all probability, but it was enough to ascertain that their prey was still inside.

Ray had taken the first shift. Fraser hadn't really been able to get any sleep, but he had managed a passable imitation of it. A deep enough mediation was actually quite refreshing. Ray on the other hand had fallen asleep fairly quickly once Fraser had taken over the watch. Even in sleep Ray looked exhausted and tired. Fraser's hand itched to smooth the lines of worry away from Ray's features.

He could smell Ray; his warm skin, the leather of his jacket, his hair product… even over the dampness of the approaching rain. Fraser inhaled shakily. Ray's low even breathing drove him to distraction. There was a faint hint of sandalwood that Fraser couldn't place, but something in that scent quickened his pulse.

This couldn't go on anymore. He had to draw the line. He would keep this professional.

By the time Ray woke up, Fraser was tense and irritable. It took more concentration to let his head rule his thoughts instead of his heart than he was used to. Fraser looked at his watch, trying to quench his impatience. He needed to move, he needed to do something, he needed to get a decent distance away from Ray.

Ray yawned and blinked slowly.

It was still an hour until the ship was due to arrive. And at least half an hour before their backup would be in position. Fraser scratched his eyebrow. If they were unlucky it would take even longer before anything happened. It would take some time to get the weapons out of the ship and they wanted to catch them at the deal, not only for the transport.

Ray put on his glasses and squinted at the warehouse.

Involuntarily, Fraser's gaze grazed Ray. His breathing hitched. Ray looked delectable, with his sleep-tousled hair, the slightly red lips from the early morning chill, and the mellow sluggishness that came from having just woken up.

Fraser bit his lip and focused his attention back on the warehouse.

"Hey, Fraser—one of the guys just vanished," Ray rubbed his palm over his chin with a soft scratching sound, trying to wake up fully.

"There." Fraser pointed to the right where a man had just appeared on the roof of the warehouse.

"What's he doing there?" Ray asked confused. "He didn't see us, did he?"

"No, I don't think so," Fraser answered thoughtfully.

The question was answered a second later when a shot rang out from the adjacent building. Fraser and Ray jumped up and ran along the side of the roof to get closer to the scene of action.

Another man had appeared on the roof of the building next to the warehouse. Behind the shelter of a scaffold Fraser could make out a man in a black coat and a black hat. Another bullet whistled past in the direction of the warehouse, but their suspect quickly dove for cover.

"Nautilus! It's over. I had you three years ago with the diamond merchant and the 9,000 pairs of fake French blue jeans at Antwerp." The man in the black coat shouted over the roof.

"Nautilus?" Ray mouthed at Fraser with a puzzled frown.

"Who are you calling Nautilus? I have never been to Antwerp!" Their suspect shouted back.

"Ray we need to get closer." Fraser pointed to a roof on a level a little further down. If they jumped down they could use the ladder on the other side to get on top of the warehouse.

Before Ray had time to answer, Fraser jumped down. Ray followed a moment later. "Fraser!" Ray hissed at him, but followed him up the ladder anyway.

"And again last year, at the boat show in Buenos Aires. Remember that? With that freight full of fake Dave Clark Five memorabilia?" The man in the black coat aimed again, but missed.

"I hate the Dave Clark Five!" The other man shouted, slightly exasperated.

The man didn't appear to be listening. "Twenty years. For twenty years I've hunted you, Nautilus."

"Damn it! I'm not Nautilus!"

Fraser looked around the crates behind which Ray and he were hiding. "Excuse me. I think he's right. Twenty years ago he still would have been a child," he interrupted.

Ray groaned behind him. "Fraser, shut up."

"That's a valid point. That's a valid—Oh, so you're the one!" The man with the black hat shouted triumphantly.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you. My name is Constable Fraser, I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father and—but that's not important right now. I'm a little unclear who you are, maybe you could enlighten us?"

"The name is Pike—" He didn't have a chance to say more on the subject as a bullet ricocheted off the wall.

"I don't care who you guys are. You're dead!" Their suspect got sudden backup in the form of his two accomplices.

"Jesus!" Ray crouched lower behind the crates as more gunfire resounded. "You're just like a big fucking red target," he muttered darkly in Fraser's direction.

"All right. Let me get this straight. You're not Nautilus, right? Okay, and he's not Nautilus, right? And I'm not Nautilus – so Nautilus isn't here?" The man named Pike clarified.

"I'm afraid so," Fraser called over the flying bullets.

When Fraser risked another glance over the rim of the crates, Pike had vanished, but the three FBI suspects were hot on his heels.

Ray and Fraser left their cover to pursue the fugitives. The three men obviously lost sight of Pike once they reached the end of the roof – he was nowhere to be seen. A moment later, all three of them turned around. Suddenly, three guns were trained on Fraser and Ray.

"Oh dear."

"Oh-oh."

Under the deafening crack of guns being fired, Ray and Fraser ran to the side until they reached the edge. There was another roof a little lower and without hesitating they jumped down.

Not a second too late. They had barely taken cover under a small metal roof before their three pursuers reached the point where they had jumped. There was no way out. They couldn't go back up for fear of getting shot and the only thing left was further down. But there was no further building left. Only the lake down below. Make that far below.

Ray looked at the rounds he had left and shoved the magazine back in with a disgusted snarl.

"Great. And what now?"

"The way I assess it, we could stand our ground and wait for backup, or we could give up. Now, if we stand our ground, they'll likely shoot us. If we give up, well, they'll likely shoot us anyway. What else could they do?"

"Well," Ray fired another shot in the direction of the gunmen. "They could surrender, but I wouldn't count on that."

"You know something?" Fraser asked. "We could jump."

"Like hell we could."

"No, no. Would you make a jump like that if you didn't have to?"

"Look, I have to and I'm not gonna."

"All right, I'll go first."

"No."

"All right, you go first."

"No means no!"

"What is wrong with you?"

"I… I can't swim."

"Oh." That declaration took Fraser by surprise. "The quality of the water alone will probably kill us."

Ray didn't look particularly relieved by this. Another round of gunfire bounced off the abused metal roof.

"On three," Fraser counted down. "One." They rolled from underneath their cover. "Two." They were almost at the edge. "Three." They plunged 40 feet down.

The sound of police sirens was loud in the air and the three suspects were already being led away in handcuffs by the time Ray and Fraser were back on dry land. Fraser might have miscalculated the arrival of their backup slightly.

Ray was livid. "That's our backup, Fraser! If we had waited two seconds, they would have been here. Which means we didn't have to jump – because in case you had forgotten: I CAN'T SWIM! I'm not FUCKING waterproof!"

"Ray, you are overreacting. Why are you so upset—"

"Oh, _I'm_ upset? That's rich. You never listen to me! That's what got us into this mess. Because you go around risking our necks without even consulting me! Fuck, you don't even talk to me! You haven't been telling me squat, Fraser!"

"Ray, I—"

"No, see that's why we're getting stale: communication. We're just not doing it!"

"What do you mean? It is our duty—"

"Fraser, shut up, I mean it. I can't take this anymore."

"We are officers of the law. I have a uniform and you carry a badge and my Sam Browne is–"

"Look, I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear it! I don't understand, I don't want to hear it! You've been telling me nothing but bullshit these last few weeks and I'm sick to death of it."

"Ray, I think you should be reasonable—"

"Look— I swear – I swear to God I will punch you in the face! Fair warning."

"Well, what does that mean, you're going to punch me?"

"Just shut up or I'll have to punch you."

"Ray, this is ridiculous—" Ray's fist collided in a white-hot flash with Fraser's cheek. He felt his lip split as Ray's knuckles impacted with his face. Fraser reached up with his thumb to wipe a trickle of blood away.

Ray stood there with his eyes frozen wide, breathing heavily.

Fraser's cheek was damp where Ray's fist had hit. It was too late. There was nothing more to say. He had done it all wrong. Fraser picked up his hat and turned around. He didn't look back.

But he felt Ray standing there, watching him leave.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

Words: ~5.340

Rating: still PG (sorry for the slow build-up guys.)

Summary: Breaking Point - Enough is enough 

The chaos that greeted Fraser back at the Consulate was also something he could've done without. Opening the door to his office, Fraser was greeted with papers strewn around everywhere, and a mess of spilled tea and soaked documents on his desk before his eyes hit upon Turnbull, half-hidden underneath the desk.

"Turnbull?" Fraser exclaimed, amazed.

There was a painful 'thud' as Turnbull hit his head on the under the desk.

"Ah, sir, I'm sorry for the disarray."

Disarray, Fraser thought, was a bit of an understatement. An upended tea kettle lay at the foot of his desk where Turnbull was busy mopping up the mess.

"What happened?"

"It was a squirrel, sir."

Fraser's eyebrows rose in surprise. It sounded like an explanation… except that it didn't.

"You see, I opened the windows to air the rooms and it must've slipped in during that time. I went into the kitchen to prepare some tea, and when it was finished I thought that you might enjoy the special blend of Oolong tea that I had imported. Of course, you weren't back at the office yet so it wouldn't have done to leave it on your desk in any case, but at that time I wasn't aware that—"

"Constable, what happened when you entered my office?" Fraser asked, praying for patience.

"The squirrel, sir, it attacked me. I am sure it acted in self-defense, but it was very devious, sir. Especially cunning of it to hide in the curtains, waiting to make its escape, until I would open the door. A Mountie is always prepared, as you well know, so I raised the tea tray to defend myself and I, well, I..." Turnbull glanced unhappily at the mess on the desk.

"You forgot you were carrying a full teapot, I see," Fraser finished for him. His eyes raked over the battlefield until his eyes came to rest on the corner of his desk.

The tea puddle left from Turnbull's act of self-defense was merrily dripping over the edge and seeping into the drawer. In a flash, Fraser was behind his desk and pulled the drawer open. There was little inside besides his notebook, but that also meant that there was little inside to prevent the tea from leaking into the pages.

He pulled the notebook out in one quick movement. The cover was slightly damp and the pages were a little curled at the edges. He flicked out his handkerchief and mopped up the most of the tea.

"I'm really very sorry, sir," Turnbull remarked miserably.

"It's fine," Fraser replied absently.

Carefully, he flipped the book open. On a few pages the ink had smeared a little, but even though the pages felt damp the notebook didn't appear to have suffered any real damage beyond a few spots of running ink.

Fraser felt vastly relieved.

He stowed the notebook in the pocket of his serge and took another look around.

"Constable, what happened to the squirrel?"

"It was very clever, sir. It escaped through the open window while I was distracted by the commotion."

"Ah, of course." Fraser really wasn't in the mood for company right now. He surveyed the remaining chaos. "Why don't you let me finish this?"

"Oh no, I couldn't," Turnbull replied earnestly.

"I insist." On sudden inspiration, Fraser added, "Why don't you make another pot of tea? I would certainly like to sample your Earl Grey."

"Oolong, sir."

Fraser swallowed a sigh. Whatever, he thought bitterly. Couldn't he just be left alone, please? He would like to bury his partnership with Ray without any witnesses even if he couldn't do it gracefully.

"Yes, Oolong, of course," Fraser forced out.

"Well, if you insist," Turnbull beamed at him before he bent down to pick up the teapot.

A second later, Fraser was finally alone in his office.

Cleaning actually helped, Fraser mused as he wiped the desk and threw the sodden printed forms into the trash. It was better than an emotional breakdown in any case.

Shortly after he was finished, Turnbull came in again with a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Constable," Fraser said, accepting the tea gratefully.

Turnbull smiled and turned to go, but then he hesitated.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

For a second, Fraser felt close to choking. With effort, he nodded before he managed a weak affirmative.

Turnbull didn't look convinced, but at least he left the office after depositing a small plate with cookies on Fraser's desk.

Fraser stared at the cookies and felt his eyes fill with tears. He'd done it. He'd pushed Ray away. The spot where Ray's fist had hit him was still smarting, but Fraser couldn't be bothered to put ice on it. As long as his cheek hurt he had at least proof of what kind of idiot he had been. And he was saved from hitting himself for his stupidity.

The successful arrest was little compensation for his ruined friendship. This time the end didn't justify the means. Ray was right; they could've done it differently. And if Fraser hadn't been so afraid of losing control around Ray, he would've trusted him.

Fraser bit his lip. And Nautilus had escaped in the end…. or maybe Nautilus was just a myth after all and there had never been anyone behind that name. Wasn't it strange how much power a simple story developed – up to the point where the story itself became real?

Fraser shook his head. It didn't matter what had happened to Nautilus. Shocked, Fraser realized that he could've lived with Nautilus's escape for the sake of Ray's friendship… and the sad thing was that he wouldn't have had to – because Ray was on the same side; Ray wanted to see the bad guys behind bars as well. Fraser never had to choose between Ray and justice. Ray had wanted an arrest just as much as he had.

So why couldn't he have trusted Ray? …because he had been too afraid of what Ray might see if he let down his guard.

Sadly, Fraser got out his notebook again and stroked softly over the soft leather cover. The pages were too wet to write on so Fraser was left staring at the pages, smoothing his fingers over the slightly curled edges, until it was too dark outside to see anything.

It was still a little time before Fraser went to bed and even longer before he could find any sleep.

The Consulate was closed the next morning for the expected arrival of a group of delegates from Ottawa and despite Fraser's best efforts to assist—to do _anything_ at all – the Inspector was adamant that she wouldn't entrust the preparations either to him or Turnbull, muttering about an incident with a group of Japanese tourists—an incident in which Fraser had been unfairly incriminated, but the Inspector since then believed him a hazard when it came to preparations involving cutlery. Well, the less said the better.

Instead, he got saddled with the daily mail. There was a stack of invitations that needed to be sent for an upcoming banquet. It took ages and the stack didn't seem to be getting any smaller. Fraser felt faintly sure that his tongue would never again lose the taste of glue from the envelopes. Fraser pushed his tongue around in his mouth with a disgusted frown. At least it had occupied half an hour of his day.

He looked around his office, but didn't know what else to do. He couldn't think about Ray and the way things had ended at the lakeside. It hurt too much and he simply couldn't face it, not yet, not at the moment.

His gaze traveled around his office for the millionth time. "Applied Psychology – An Introduction" greeted him on his bookshelf. Right, Francesca had told him about a psychology class she was taking and he had offered to lend her some reading material on the subject. He opened the book and took a look at the slip from the library; it wasn't due for another two weeks. Why not? It wasn't as if he had anything better to do and at least the chances of running into Ray at the 27th were less than likely.

When Fraser entered the bullpen a thickset man pushed past him.

"Oh, I'm not worried, Lieutenant. But if I were you I'd be worried. 'Cause you're in for a rocky ride," the man said over his shoulder.

Fraser looked past the man to find Lieutenant Welsh standing in the hallway of the bullpen.

Welsh looked annoyed. "Your brother was nothing but a criminal, and I stand by my detectives, Brandauer."

The man snarled and shoved Fraser out of the way. With a frown, Fraser watched him leave.

"Ah, Leftenant, anything with which I might help you?" Fraser asked, motioning to the man that had just left.

"Forget it, Constable. Brandauer and I have this thing. We've been going at each other on and off for about twenty years. Now any excuse he gets he's gonna jump on, and he'll start digging."

Fraser considered this.

"And for what is he digging this time, sir?"

Welsh sighed and motioned to his office. Once behind closed doors, Welsh scrutinized Fraser for a second.

"This whole thing began with this con that they have in the holding cell, a guy called Siracusa. Apparently he had a sit-down with one of the reps from the State's Attorney, tried to cut himself a deal for an early release. He said that our whole station was bent, taking in drugs with the arrest, skimming off the top.

How'd he come across this information, they ask? He said he used to be a stoolie for one of the dirty cops, a detective. Which detective, they ask? He points the finger at Ray Vecchio."

Fraser didn't have to think twice. "Ray Vecchio is not corrupt, sir."

Welsh nodded impatiently. "Yes, you know that and I know that, but between all of them IA doesn't have a half a brain."

"Understood," Fraser flicked a knuckle over his eyebrow. "What will happen now?"

"Nothing," Welsh rubbed a meaty hand over his face. "They're taking Siracusa to the 19th precinct where the new guy is filling in for Vecchio. Since there's no way Siracusa will be able to pick him out of a line-up this thing's already yesterday's news."

Fraser frowned. "But with all due respect, sir, Ray Vecchio is a good man and an honest police officer. This procedure means it doesn't matter whether he was guilty or not."

Welsh shrugged wearily. "I know Vecchio was clean. But there's no point in wasting our time with digging up old cases to prove it. They won't be able to prove the opposite and that's good enough for us."

"I see," Fraser said with a stubborn twist to his mouth.

"Was there anything you wanted, Constable?" Welsh asked.

"Ah, no, sir. Thank you," Fraser dismissed himself.

The wave of anger that surged through him almost took Fraser by surprise. By the time the door had closed behind him he had come to a decision. He went over to Francesca to give her the book which she took with delight.

"Listen, Francesca, can you tell me on which case Detective Brandauer is basing his accusation on?"

Frannie's expression turned sour. "That jerk. If my brother were here—" She seemed to remember where she was and quickly glanced to the left and to the right. She dragged Fraser into the supply closet and closed the door.

A moment later, the small cupboard was filled by the harsh light of a single bulb.

"It's about some heroin case. Apparently, they seized 10 kilos of heroin and when it was signed in at evidence control there was only one. They say that Ray did something with the rest—but he didn't. I don't know what game they're playing, but—" Frannie whispered enraged.

"No, I understand Francesca. I'll look into the matter; no harm will come to Ray. Could you make me a copy of the case file?"

Frannie smiled at him. "Anything for you, Fraser."

Fraser swallowed uncomfortably and pulled at his collar.

Francesca left to copy the files and came back a few minutes later.

"This is everything I could find."

"Thank you kindly."

Back at the Consulate, Fraser pored over the old notes. He felt a twinge of guilt that he was so very glad of the distraction this newest development provided. This was about his friend Ray Vecchio, after all, and he shouldn't be using this as an excuse not to think about what happened with Ray at the docks.

But thinking of Ray Kowalski was always followed by a sudden pang in his chest and the feeling that he couldn't breathe and having an excuse not to face this was more than a little welcome.

When evening came, Fraser had a working hypothesis as to what had happened with the heroin. Ray had worked together with Detective Huey on the case and if one supposed – as Fraser did without a doubt – that none of them had taken anything from the heroin that meant that someone at the evidence lock-up had.

There were only so many reasons why someone at the lock-up should skim off a few kilos of heroin. There were two major crime syndicates in Chicago that were specialized in dealing with drugs. To bribe someone directly inside of a police station took connections, and Fraser didn't believe that a small-time gangster could've pulled it off. That left two men. Either the rest of the heroin ended up in the hands of Gus Fillion or in those of Eddy Herndorff.

Recently, there was even a third figure by the name of Andreas Volpe who might also have been able to accomplish it.

All Fraser had to do was prove that one of them had bribed the evidence lock-up and it would show that Ray Vecchio was indeed innocent.

Fraser felt another surge of bitterness at the thought that no one at the 27th cared if Ray Vecchio had really done it or not. All that was important was that it couldn't be proven— when in fact it should've been important that there was nothing to prove!

Ray Vecchio might have had unorthodox measures and his technique might not always have been a model of police procedure, but he was a good man and there was no bribe in the world that could corrupt him, of that Fraser was sure. Ray Vecchio had looked upon corruption with the utmost contempt; under no circumstances would he have dealt with drugs.

Having reached a promising course of action, however, left Fraser with his original problem. Ray Kowalski, who had always been at the brink of his thoughts throughout the day, was back with a vengeance and there was nothing else to distract Fraser from it.

"I could just call him and tell him I'm sorry," Fraser told Diefenbaker. Dief snorted and moved underneath the desk to curl up for a nap.

"You're right. I would have to give Ray an explanation… and I can't do that."

Dief grumbled quietly. Fraser knew that his canine friend thought that he should just tell Ray about his feelings, but Fraser reminded himself that wolves were moderately simpler than humans when it came to relationships.

Fraser sighed deeply and put his head in his hands. In a sudden burst of energy, he got his notebook out and uncapped his pen. Staring at the blank page, though, he hesitated. If he wrote it down now it would somehow make it real… more real…

He couldn't—he didn't—it was just too final.

He shut the notebook again. But… maybe… writing itself… he got a blank piece of paper out and tried to compose a letter to Ray. Yes, he could explain it all in a letter. That was much easier and he could find the best way of putting it.

Three attempts later, Fraser threw yet another page into the wastepaper basket. It was futile… even if he could find the right words Ray would never accept a letter as an apology. And he couldn't even find the right words. Fraser laughed a little despairingly.

What was he afraid of? That Ray could hate him _more_? That he could make Ray any angrier and disappointed if he knew the truth of Fraser's feelings for him? It was ridiculous, and yet Fraser found himself quite unable to put it into writing.

Maybe all Ray needed were a few days time to let off some steam.

…and what if not? A little voice inside of Fraser's head whispered.

What if Ray didn't want any more to do with him? What if Ray didn't want to listen to any apologies? Fraser clenched his fingers into a fist. 'What if' had never made anyone happy.

Instead, Fraser focused all of his energies on clearing Ray Vecchio's name. He didn't care if the investigation was already closed or not. He would not stand by while people slandered the name of his friend. He owed him that much. What kind of justice let another man take the fall? No, he had to find the real culprit.

Getting an interview with Mr. Fillion was easier than Fraser had anticipated. Fraser only had to show up at his bar and Gus Fillion took one look at Diefenbaker and waved Fraser closer.

"Is that a wolf?" he asked with a nod in Dief's direction.

"Half-wolf, actually," Fraser amended.

Fillion tapped with his long fingers thoughtfully on his chin before he did a sweeping gesture, taking in the whole wall in front of him. Fraser looked at the pictures that filled the wall.

"I painted all these, I love dogs. Not candy-assed drop-kick dogs, you understand. I mean real dogs."

"A very deft touch. They are amazingly lifelike," Fraser commented truthfully.

Fillion gave him a shrewd look. "You're here because of the dirty cop."

"Ray Vecchio didn't take the heroin," Fraser said with his head high.

"So you think I did it?" Fillion seemed amused by the idea.

Fraser tried to phrase his answer carefully. "I've formed no opinion, sir. I'm merely gathering information, proceeding more or less along the lines of a royal commission," he rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow.

"I like you. You can talk. Most of the cops around here can't string a sentence together." Fillion's gaze wandered from one painting to the next. Finally he added, "Listen, I had no reason to get my hands on the white stuff. I didn't need to prove anything. But the word is that Herndorff was getting antsy. Volpe was getting too big in this game… maybe he was trying to make a point?" Fillion shrugged, not terribly concerned.

"Thank you kindly," Fraser tipped his hat and left.

Trying to meet Herndorff was a lot more complicated. While Fraser spread the word on the streets that he was looking for Eddy Herndorff, another day came to an end.

A few times Fraser had thought he had seen Ray Kowalski when he had spoken to people, but whenever he had turned around there was no one there. He wished he knew what to say so that Ray would forgive him.

That night, Fraser went again over the case files. There had to be a reason for the missing 9 kilos. It all seemed straightforward enough. Ray and Huey had seized the shipment after an anonymous phone call came in. They booked the perpetrator and the drugs went to evidence control. And then everything had been quiet until the candidate for State's Attorney, one Damon Cahill, had taken up the cause of fighting corruption.

And when Siracusa had stepped up then, and accused Vecchio, he was a welcome scapegoat. Fraser rubbed a hand over his eyes. It was already too late to get anything else done tonight. With a heavy heart, Fraser's fingers stroked softly over the cover of his notebook. If he only knew how to tell Ray…

The next day, Fraser reached his limit. He got tired of hearing the same thing over and over. Everyone was telling him that no one in his right mind wanted to meet Herndorff. And apparently Fraser couldn't convince anyone of the opposite.

The frustration was finally enough to get to him. In the afternoon, Fraser fell into his office chair with a barely suppressed sigh. Ray, Ray, Ray. It all came back to him. He could use his help and his street knowledge in this case. It would be much easier to clear Ray Vecchio's name with his help.

…or maybe Ray was simply distracting him to the point where he missed the obvious. If his head wasn't so full of Ray it might just be possible that he would find the clear-sightedness to solve this case.

Annoyed, mostly with himself, Fraser opened his notebook, and this time he didn't hesitate to put his pen to the paper.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For not being honest… and for making it so hard on Ray. I never meant to hurt him—that was the last thing I wanted. And now I can't stop thinking about him—it's even worse than before. And, God, it hurts so much. The more I try not to think about him, the less it seems I'm able to. His help would be immeasurable… as would Ray Vecchio's. I'm sure my friend would know how to handle the situation as I have to admit I'm doing a rather poor job of it. Ray Vecchio would know just the thing to say. He'd probably tell me how stupid I am behaving and he would be right… _Not for the first time, Fraser wished that his friend didn't have to leave._ I'll clear your name, my friend. I promise. _And there was still something else that needed to be done. _I need a chance to at least try to talk to Ray. I can't let things end like this._

Fraser was tired of sitting on his hands doing nothing. If Herndorff wouldn't grace him with an interview, Fraser would have to get the information himself. Fraser would have preferred a direct meeting with Mr. Herndorff; this sneaking around was giving him a tingling feeling at the back of his head, but it couldn't be helped.

That Herndorff conducted his business in the back of a seedy strip club was an open secret – and getting in wasn't an issue; _no one_ wanted to go where Herndorff was. Well, the lax security _and_ Fraser's trusted lock pick kit paved the way, to be honest. It wasn't even really a set of lock picks; mostly it was wires and other instruments that Fraser found… helpful… when faced with a closed door. Or window for that matter.

The lock on the low cellar window was no match for the small, flat metal pick. It was almost too easy. Fraser held the window open for Dief, who slipped in with the almost noiseless rustle of fur. Fraser looked around. If what he had been able to gather had been correct, then Herndorrf's business transactions should be kept in one of the back rooms.

It took him longer than he had expected, but he finally came across a small vault. Fraser almost smiled at the challenge this little break-in provided. He pulled a slender stethoscope from his pocket and set to work.

Going through the files he found inside was a lot more taxing than getting the safe open. When he finally found the entry he was looking for Fraser couldn't believe his eyes at first. It was impossible! Now it made sense, the anonymous phone call, the timing… the man who had ordered the bribe was no one else but—

Dief didn't get out more than a warning growl before two men approached from behind.

"Dief! Run!" Fraser shouted and the vanishing flick of Dief's white tail was the last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him as the butt of a gun connected painfully with the back of his head.

"Stubborn Mountie!... what did I do to deserve this? …and why didn't you stop him, huh? You'll be one sorry wolf when this is over… I'm going to kill him…."

Dief whined in protest.

"Yeah, okay, okay. You did bring me to him; your honor's safe for the moment… Jesus, I'm talking to a dog… don't let Fraser know that, okay, Dief?"

Fraser shook his head to clear it. Ray? His head hurt. As he opened his eyes he realized that he was tied to a chair in one of the back rooms. His wrists were fastened behind his back and someone was tugging on the knots… and muttering curses in his ear. It was terribly distracting.

"—ay?" Fraser tried to ask, but the scarf that was gagging him and which was tightened behind his head prevented him from articulating clearly.

"Don't you 'Ray' me," Ray growled, giving the knot another tug. "I should just kill you myself and put you out of your misery… who the fuck did these knots? Houdini?"

"U—ight—con—ide—u—ing—u—ocke—ive," Fraser tried to enunciate as clearly as possible.

"I, uh, can't. I left my pocketknife in my other jacket."

"—ay—u—ow—u—houd—rea—y—ee—u—ing—o—oga—ize."

Ray glared at him. "Look, Fraser, this is the wrong time for advice on neatness."

Fraser thought that the communication would be remarkably easier if Ray would be so kind as to remove the gag from his mouth and he tried to voice this idea to Ray.

"Nope, I'm damaged, not stupid. See, I'm really sorry I hit you and if I let you open your mouth now I'm afraid I'll have to hit you again. So we're doing this the sensible way, 'kay? The guy who has at least part of his brain left does the talking and the guy whose elevator stops a floor short of his brain does the Canadian thing and shuts up."

Ray's fingers continued to fumble with the knots. If Fraser wasn't very much mistaken there was the smell of smoke in the air.

"No one in his right mind wants to meet Herndorff! Are you unhinged?"

"So—eopl—eep—ellin—e," Fraser said, exasperated.

"Oooh, good, so people did tell you," Ray exclaimed sarcastically. "And here I thought it was something about the American expression of 'stay the fuck away' that got lost in the translation. You know, you really suck, Fraser. You think this is all your story, right? Like this is all one big adventure that you've been thinking up and that you're writing down, just the story of your life, right? Guess what, there are other people in it, too."

"U—ow—u—didn—eed—o—rescu—e," Fraser pointed out.

"Like hell I didn't. You think I got a choice? Think I could just leave you here to be burned to a crispy chicken? Nu-uh. Think again. Mounties haunt you to your grave, I know that. And it's probably especially gruesome if they had to die in some totally un-Canadian place, like Chicago, or something. See? I never had a choice."

Finally, the knot came loose and Fraser stretched his arms, trying to get the blood flowing again.

There was a loud bang as one of the windows exploded.

"Let's get outta here," Ray muttered, pulling Fraser along. By the time they were safely outside, the flames were already leaping out of the windows.

Fraser looked sadly at the fire that was rapidly consuming everything inside. "Now I won't be able to prove Ray Vecchio's innocence after all."

Ray shook his head slowly from side to side. "Fraser… Fraser… you still haven't grasped how this works. Think 'Lennon and McCartney', 'Leopold and Loeb', the 'Three Stooges' –well, technically, they were a trio, but in my opinion they should have dropped Larry right from the start because you could see the guy he just was not committed—anyway, duets, Fraser. We're a fucking duet, okay?"

Ray reached inside of his jacket and pulled a page out that had obviously been torn from an old and rather big ledger. Mr. Herndorff's ledger to be exact.

"Think I don't know why you went to Herndorff? When someone told me that they wanted to dish the dirt on Vecchio I knew you would come running. All I had to do was ask around; Volpe is an old, uh, acquaintance of mine. When he said a Mountie was snooping around, asking to meet Herndorff I knew it had to be you— not even Chicago can handle more than one freak your size," Ray sighed and held the page out. "This is the page you've been looking for, right? I took it before the fire got to it."

Fraser took the page. It showed the details of a business deal. Herndorff had ended up with the heroin… but the man who had paid him to do it was no other than—

"Cahill, huh? Who'd have thought the man running for State's Attorney of all people would be buried to the neck in the dirt. I guess he really needed this prime example for his corruption agenda. C'mon, this was your investigation you can give the details to Welsh on the way." Ray handed him his cell.

Fraser was speechless for a moment. He had wanted nothing more than a chance to explain to Ray and now Ray was here. Ray had come just when he had needed him the most… and he had known how important this case was for Fraser.

He stared at Ray with wide eyes. Ray noticed the look and grinned slightly.

"Don't worry, you're still in for a chewing out. But I'm feeling magna-whatsit so I'm saving it until we're at my place," he winked and opened the car door.

Ray didn't seem all that mad. For the first time in days, Fraser felt something like hope.

Fraser shut the phone a minute before they reached Ray's apartment. Welsh had seemed pleased to have the real perpetrator to throw at Brandauer… even though he had been less than keen once he knew who the real culprit was. Fraser couldn't really blame him; investigating the ladder of hierarchy in the other direction was seldom pleasant.

Ray was almost vibrating with barely contained intensity throughout the drive. Fraser swallowed dryly. Now that they were at Ray's apartment, Fraser had no idea how to start. But Ray wasn't waiting for any clues; he pushed Fraser onto the couch, preventing him from escaping by planting his feet firmly to the left and to the right of Fraser's knees. One warm hand wrapped around each of Fraser's shoulders as Ray scrutinized his face, searching for something.

"Okay, now you and me we gotta talk. What's eating you?"

"Ray, I…" Now that the moment was there, Fraser didn't know how to put it into words... and holding Ray's inquiring gaze wasn't as easy as Fraser had hoped.

"You've been skittish around me for weeks and risking your life in really bizarre ways—well, more bizarre than usual anyway… what gives? Gotta be something to do with me or I'll move to Canada. So, something I did?"

Fraser bit his lip and shook his head. "No, Ray, it's—you didn't do anything," Fraser answered truthfully, willing him to believe his words.

Ray's eyes narrowed as his gaze searched Fraser's. After a moment of consideration, he nodded thoughtfully. He allowed himself a small smile.

"Good, okay…. something I didn't do then. What didn't I do?"

Fraser's mouth felt suddenly dry. Ray was more perceptive than he had given him credit for... or Ray knew him better than he had expected. There was no running away now… maybe he didn't need words after all. If this was his one chance he would take it. He was a Mountie, he could do this.

Before he could back down, Fraser closed the distance between them, and pressed his lips to Ray's.

**TBC… on May, 25th**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

Words: ~ 4.920

Rating: NC-17 (for some smutty slash action... finally... you had to wait over 40.000 words for it ^^ How _was_ the foreplay?)

Summary: Happiness – Love or a study in magnetism

Notes: *cough* This is a completely shameless pwp. There's no case to solve in this one, but it more than makes up for it in the smut department 

~*~ What happened before ~*~

"_Good, okay…. something I didn't do then. What didn't I do?" _

_Fraser's mouth felt suddenly dry. Ray was more perceptive than he had given him credit for... or Ray knew him better than he had expected. There was no running away now… maybe he didn't need words after all. If this was his one chance he would take it. He was a Mountie, he could do this._

_Before he could back down, Fraser closed the distance between them, and pressed his lips to Ray's._

Ray's lips were warm and pliant under his own as Ray's faint stubble rubbed gently against his skin. That warm scent again… this hint of sandalwood… together with something darker… and something inside of Fraser felt electrified. He reached out with his hand and for one, just one stolen moment in time, Fraser gloried in the soft bristle of Ray's hair against his palm as he cradled Ray's head. Ray had to forgive him for taking this.

The moment before a soft needy whimper would've broken from his lips, Fraser pulled reluctantly away. His cheeks were burning and his heart had never beaten this fast.

Slowly, Ray opened his eyes. Fraser hadn't even noticed that Ray had closed them.

"Was that some kind of Canadian apology I don't know of?" Ray asked quietly. His voice was slightly scratchy.

Hurt, expected but biting and sharp nonetheless, tore at Fraser's heart. He shook his head. He had been wrong. Ray didn't understand, not nearly. "No, I—I better go…" Fraser murmured and tried to stand up.

Ray's hand pushed him back against the couch as Ray's knees hit the couch to the left and to the right of Fraser's hips – successfully preventing any form of escape.

"God, you drove me _nuts_ these last weeks. I never would've guessed… you scared me half to death…" Fraser still wasn't completely processing what was happening when Ray's fingers closed around his nape and Ray kissed him again. The spots where Ray's fingers were touching his neck were burning, and Ray's fingers were rubbing circles into the skin ever so softly; Ray's thumb was smoothing over the soft skin behind his ear, and the whimper he had held back earlier escaped Fraser's lips after all.

Slowly, Ray pulled away. "I thought for sure one of these days I was going to be too late to save you. Trust me I would've hunted your ass to the ends of the earth, Mountie or not. When it comes to tenacity Mounties have nothing on Chicago, better believe it."

Fraser willed his brain to catch up. Ray…kissed him… scared… saving him… Fraser tried to get the facts into the right order.

"Ray," and it hurt pointing it out, "friends worry and are concerned. This is a natural reaction. I'm afraid my…" Fraser smoothed a knuckle over his eyebrow. It was better to get this over quickly, like pulling off a band-aid. "…my own motives aren't exactly, ah, _friendly_."

Ray grinned. His fingers were still touching Fraser's neck, teasing the over-sensitized skin there… had his skin always been sensitive there, Fraser wondered. Two of Ray's fingers were dipping tantalizingly under the collar of the serge and Fraser's eyes fell closed for half a second before he managed to focus on the conversation again.

"Yeah, Frase, I had friends before. I know how to be buddies," Ray's voice was soft and his eyes were steady as he looked at Fraser. "But buddies don't wanna do this," Ray explained and pressed his lips again to Fraser's. Ray's thumb was stroking down, from Fraser's ear down his throat, and back up again. It left a fiery trail that Fraser felt moving further south even though Ray's dexterous fingers had already moved on to a new playground. His thumb stroked along Fraser's jaw while his other hand moved up, along the nape, and into Fraser's hair.

Rational thought climbed into the backseat and buckled up in three sets of chains, surrounded by a survival kit and provisions that would enable her to stay there for the unforeseeable future as passion elbowed its way to the front.

Fraser clutched at Ray's shirt, pulling the agile body closer against his own, and Ray's mouth opened under his, slick silky heat in stark contrast to Ray's sinewy body underneath his hands and the prickle of stubble against his jaw. Fraser drew Ray's tongue into his mouth and marveled at the strength with which Ray overpowered all of his senses. He could smell smoke – a sharp reminder of the earlier fire, the leather of Ray's holster was still clinging to his t-shirt, similar and different than Fraser's Sam Browne, and Ray's very own warm spicy scent with that touch of ink made it all but impossible to notice anything else besides Ray. Fraser took another frantic breath through his nose… arousal… Fraser felt light-headed all of a sudden. He could smell Ray's arousal—

With a barely suppressed moan, Fraser's hand traveled lower, hooking underneath Ray's lithe body right where his thigh met his ass and Fraser's other hand steadied Ray at the hip and then he pushed. He needed closer, he needed Ray's body pressed against his, he wanted to feel the weight of Ray's body underneath his own. They slid along the couch cushions until Ray landed on his back, stretched out on the couch with Fraser on top of him.

Ray arched up against him as Fraser deepened the kiss, searching for more of Ray's unique taste, of that barely contained strength— arousal… Ray was aroused… but… this wasn't following any scenario Fraser had thought possible… because Ray was interested in women only, he wasn't—he couldn't be—

Rational thought snapped with her fingers and the chains disappeared. In the blink of an eye, she was back in control— however poor that control was.

"Ray, I'm a man," Fraser all but blurted.

Ray frowned at the sudden loss of contact. Suddenly, Ray's eyes widened and he reached out to give Fraser's shoulder a shove.

"Damn! And you didn't care to tell me?"

Fraser stared at him. Certainly Ray had noticed that bef—

Ray rolled his eyes before he started to chuckle. "Jeez… believe it or not I had noticed." Ray's eyes crinkled with laughter. "Me? I'm the kinda guy who'll try anything once," Ray winked at him. "So can we please get back to trying this some more?" Ray gave Fraser's lanyard a tug.

"But—you said the same thing about seafood," Fraser said slowly. "Two days before the Tucci case, we were having dinner, and I remarked that I hadn't known you liked seafood and then you replied that 'you'd try anything once'."

Ray's smile turned wry. "No, see, I was telling you _while_ we were having seafood that I'd try anything once."

Fraser tried to come to terms with the implications behind _that_ statement, but Ray was obviously done with talking. Ray reached up and traced a playful line with his thumb along Fraser's lower lip.

"C'mere…" Ray murmured, pulling Fraser down. And this time, Fraser banned rational thought away from himself and threw away the key.

The wool of his serge was becoming too warm far too quickly and Ray made the most beautiful desperate moans as his jeans-clad groin moved in a graceful arc to press against Fraser.

"Could we—I'd like to—" Fraser had trouble forming sentences faced with Ray's aroused state.

Ray was panting heavily and he closed his eyes for a second before he nodded. "Yeah… bedroom… good idea."

They stumbled into the bedroom and Fraser set to the aggravating task of getting out of the uniform. He bent down to unlace the boots which was made difficult by the fact that he couldn't take his eyes off Ray and the way he toed off his boots and socks before he shimmied out of his jeans. Fraser almost strangled himself with the lanyard in his haste to remove the serge.

But Fraser had barely time to pull the Henley over his head before Ray was completely naked and then he couldn't wait anymore. He reached for Ray and pulled him to the bed with him. Ray was warm in his arms and Fraser leaned back against the headboard, settling Ray in his lap.

He wanted to switch on all the lights to see every bit of Ray instead of watching him in the light that spilled in from the hallway. He wanted to spread Ray out on the bed and taste every inch of him. He wanted to be utterly quiet so that he would hear every sound Ray made.

But when Ray kissed him again with this complete abandon that seemed the only way Ray knew how to do things – whole-heartedly, giving all of himself, going on instinct – and his erection brushed against Fraser's undershirt, all thoughts of taking his time, of making both of them wait, of drawing this out, fled right out of the window.

He needed to touch Ray now and he couldn't deny him anything. So when Ray moaned into his ear again, his hot breath tickling Fraser's skin, it was all Fraser could do not to fall apart.

His hand closed around Ray's erection and Ray's startled gasp sent a shiver through Fraser. Ray pulled his face away to gasp for air and Fraser found himself staring at his partner with undisguised want. Ray's slack-jawed face and his slightly parted lips were the most indecent things Fraser had ever dared to witness. The hitch of Ray's hips was driving Fraser to distraction. He wanted to taste Ray, and to make him beg, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Ray was demanding, forcefully pushing into the circle of Fraser's fist, his hands digging into Fraser's shoulders, holding on. He was moaning with his eyes half-closed.

"Frase… god… so good… yes—ah—please don't stop…"

And Fraser could only quietly shake his head, no, he wouldn't stop, he couldn't; panting for air as arousal made it hard to breathe.

Ray's back was slightly sweat-soaked and the heady mix of clean sweat and arousal made Fraser's mouth go dry. He licked his lips; he needed time to lick every inch of Ray's body, he hoped he would get the chance to catalogue every one of his moans, and he never wanted to miss out on seeing Ray's face in the height of passion.

"Fraser!" Ray cried out and Fraser flicked his thumb over the head of Ray's cock as Ray came with a shudder that wracked his whole body.

"Jesus…" Ray shivered. "…God…" Ray took a calming breath before he took in Fraser's face, the flushed cheeks and the mussed hair, arousal so very obvious in every inch of skin.

"You're breathing kinda hard there, buddy," Ray murmured a little breathlessly, but his grin was all Cheshire Cat. "I think I might be able to help you with that."

Helplessly, Fraser had to release his grip on Ray as Ray reached for Fraser's undershirt and pulled it over his head. Teasingly, Ray pulled down the zipper on the jodhpurs and Fraser couldn't keep the relieved moan in. Ray reached inside of Fraser's boxers and when his hand closed around Fraser's heated erection, Fraser's hips snapped up of their own volition.

"Spread your legs," Ray murmured silkily. With a pounding heart, Fraser obeyed. Ray looked up at him with a predatory smile before he bent down to map Fraser's cock with his lips.

To see Ray's mouth on his erection was almost too much to bear, but when Ray pulled the foreskin back, licked once around the head, and then swallowed him down, Fraser had to bury his hands in Ray's hair or lose it.

"Ray…oh…"

Ray released his prize for a moment. "Uncut, huh…" Ray grinned. "More responsive that way…" Ray murmured and his moist breath puffed against the wet skin of Fraser's cock, lips brushing it as Ray spoke, and Fraser's needy whimper that ended with a shiver in Fraser's thighs was more than enough to prove Ray right.

Ray sucked him down again, hand curled tightly around the base and Ray's other hand closed gently around Fraser's testicles. Fraser couldn't stop the moans from spilling over his lips, nonsensical articulations of want and need, but Ray apparently didn't need any words to understand him.

Ray's tongue was pressed tightly against the vein on the underside and when Fraser felt a hint of teeth he couldn't hold on any longer.

He would've been embarrassed by the animalistic growl that seemed to come directly from his chest, but he couldn't care because he was coming, right inside of Ray's hot mouth and he could feel Ray swallow convulsively around him and—"Ray…" The tenderness in Fraser's voice was heart-breaking.

Ray released him softly and wiped a hand over his shiny lips. Immediately, Fraser had a grip on the back of Ray's neck to pull him close. Eagerly, Ray's lips parted underneath his own as Fraser pressed Ray closer, feeling Ray's naked skin against his own.

He could taste himself on Ray's tongue and the level of intimacy almost undid him.

"I didn't know you had experience," Fraser murmured into the corner of Ray's mouth, apologizing for his earlier assumption that Ray was a novice when it came to male lovers.

"That's 'cause I don't," Ray answered, sleepily rubbing his head against Fraser's shoulder.

Fraser's thumb flicked over his eyebrow before he could stop it. "I beg your pardon?"

Ray's chuckle was interrupted by a sudden yawn. "Frase, this isn't rocket science. I figured it's not a skill chicks get born with and Stella did a pretty good job of it when she was 16. The way I see it, I even got the advantage that I know how it feels. See? Easy." Another yawn ended Ray's explanation.

Fraser was dumbfounded. So… natural… Ray simply took everything so… natural… so in stride.

Ray stretched; it was obvious that Ray wanted to go to sleep now. Which was only fair; it had been a very long day. What was the protocol now? Did one make excuses to leave? Fraser didn't want to leave. Never again. Could one ask to stay? Or would that be imprudent?

"Hey—there's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Right side of the mirror cabinet. Just grab a towel from the stack by the shower, 'kay?" Ray told him while he reached for his alarm clock. "Tell me again: at what ungodly time of night do you have to open the frikkin' Consulate?"

"Ah, at 8 o' clock," Fraser answered perplexed.

"Greatness. Oh, you need a hanger for your uniform, right?" Ray scratched his head, looking around for inspiration. "You go do your thing in the bathroom, I'll hunt for one."

Fraser stumbled into the bathroom. He stared at the mirror while he was brushing his teeth. The man in the mirror had problems deciding whether he wanted to smile or frown. Apparently, Fraser didn't have to ask to stay. Maybe this was only a friendly service, though? Did one act of sexual intimacy make a relationship? …well, it did in Fraser's book, but Americans were horribly familiar when it came to human interaction. He would just have to wait and see.

When he came back, his uniform was hanging at the back of the door. Ray came up to him and pulled him in a gentle embrace that ended with a hot kiss to Fraser's throat.

"Get comfortable, I'll be back in a second."

Ray vanished into the hallway. A moment later, Fraser heard water running in the bathroom. When Ray came back, he was wearing a sheepish expression on his face. "I'm afraid we pissed the wolf off; he's sulking in the kitchen. Guess that means we have to stop for donuts on the way to work."

Warmth washed through Fraser, reaching into every corner. Once Ray had climbed into bed, Fraser slung his arms around him to pull him close. He hoped Ray didn't have any objections to displays of affection after sexual activities. But Ray simply relaxed into his arms and burrowed a little further into Fraser's body. "Sorry, wet spot," Ray mumbled sleepily.

Fraser simply tightened his grip.

Fraser woke feeling disoriented and confused. First of all, this wasn't his cot. Secondly, he wasn't at the Consulate. And, well, mostly he wasn't alone. The instant Fraser realized that there was another naked body next to his, reality caught up with him.

Wide-eyed, he watched Ray sleep. Fraser could only guess what time it was; Ray's bedroom window wasn't facing east, not the way his own office did. Everything was more or less bathed in a low golden light, the first rays of sunlight, but that could mean anything – from about the time they would have to get up to at least an hour prior to that.

Fraser once read that the first and last hour of sunlight was called the magic hour, called that way for its warm hue. Looking at Ray, Fraser thought that he felt what this meant even though he wasn't sure if he really understood it.

Without meaning to, he reached out, allowing his hands to trace the contours of Ray's body. Ray gave a content little sigh.

Impulsively, Fraser pulled Ray closer. He almost held his breath at his own daring.

Fraser didn't know how it started. All he knew was that he could feel every inch of Ray's warm body pressed against his own and then Ray—_rubbed_—against him, probably still half-asleep, and Fraser had found out that some body parts of Ray were obviously already very much awake—and then _both_ of them were rubbing against each other and Ray was gasping in his ear and then suddenly they were both fully awake and Ray was hoarsely whispering his name and Fraser's grip on Ray's hip was in all probability leaving bruises, but this was _so_ good that he just couldn't stop.

The scent of sex permeated Fraser's olfactory senses, his fingers slipped on Ray's sweaty skin, and all that he could hear were their combined moans. And then Ray pressed still closer to him, kissing him deeply, moaning against his lips, and Fraser felt wetness splatter his skin. He continued to move, pushing harder, and Ray urged him on, biting at his throat and licking the sweat from his shoulder, and Fraser lost control, spilling between their already slick bodies. Ray didn't seem to mind; he slung an arm around Fraser's neck and pulled him close.

"I figured you weren't the guy for a one-night-stand, but thanks for clearing it up," Ray panted into his neck.

Fraser was confused. Why should he have been interested in a one-night-stand? Had he said something that made Ray wonder about Fraser's intentions? Because he didn't think—

"Frase…? This wasn't a one-time thing… right?" Ray sounded hesitant.

"No," Fraser answered before he had even thought about it. "God, no," Fraser replied again once his brain had caught up with Ray's insecurities. His hand stroked firmly down Ray's back. "Not if you'll have me," he added softly.

"Have you? Fraser, you're talking to attached-much-Ray-Kowalski. Not even kryptonite would make me let go," Ray smiled.

"Kryptonite? I'm not sure I underst—" Fraser admitted.

"Yeah, Frase, I'll have you."

Ray called dibs on the first shower because, according to some universal law, experimental hair needed extra grooming-time whereas Mountie hair didn't dare to have a single hair out of place at any given time. Fraser had never heard anything more ridiculous, but for once in his life he didn't mind having a little wallow in bed. Usually, he felt guilty if he stayed in bed after his alarm had gone off. But today Fraser was… he searched for the right word, burying his face in the pillow that still smelled like Ray. Happy. He was happy.

He couldn't enjoy his happiness in peace for long, though. Before the water had even stopped running in the bathroom, Diefenbaker appeared at the bedroom door with a decisively smug grin.

Fraser couldn't quite keep the groan from escaping.

"I would thank you to keep your gloating to yourself."

Dief yipped in reply.

Fraser raised his head from the pillow to glare at his lupine friend. "It's not very polite to tell people that you told them so— and might I remind you that – had I taken your advice – I should've tackled Ray and dragged him of to—to mate without wasting any words whatsoever?"

Dief barked and twitched his ears.

"What's his problem?" Ray asked, coming out of the bathroom and rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

"Ah," Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "Dief thinks I should've just… _grabbed_ you… and had my wicked way with you without so much as a word of explanation," Fraser looked sternly at Dief.

Ray nodded slowly. "Yeah, would've worked."

"Ray!" Fraser exclaimed, shocked.

Ray's grin could be seen beneath the moving towel. Ray peeked through the flaps of fabric. "Hate to tell you, but I'm a sucker for a pretty face, Frase."

"Oh, so that's all I am to you then?" Fraser picked up the conversational gambit feeling almost reckless for endorsing this childish banter.

Ray's grin widened. "Nah… you also got the body to go along with it."

Fraser threw the pillow at Ray's retreating back. Ray's laughter made Fraser feel warm all over.

"Go grab a shower, Benton-Buddy, or we'll be late."

Fraser watched resignedly as Diefenbaker pointedly scrunched up his nose at the heavy smell of sex that was still dominating Ray's bedroom… not to mention that the proof thereof was making Fraser's stomach itch uncomfortably.

"And whose fault would you say that is?" Fraser called in the direction of the kitchen while he made his way into the bathroom.

"Easy. You're the one still lying in bed until a minute ago," Ray's voice was laughing; Fraser didn't have to see his face to know that Ray was having a good time.

Ray dropped them off at the Consulate, sneaking a feverishly hot kiss before allowing Fraser to climb out of the car. Ray's cheeks were slightly flushed as he leaned over the passenger seat to look at Fraser.

"Uh… when do you get off? I could… should I pick you up? We could have dinner at my place? My treat."

Fraser felt a smile stretching his lips. "I'll see you at 5 then… thank you, Ray," Fraser added softly.

Ray shook his head, smiling. "You're a freak."

"Understood."

On his way to his office, Fraser noticed a sting in his tongue. Gingerly, he pressed his tongue against his teeth. A paper cut, Fraser thought, surprised. It must've happened when he was preparing the daily mail yesterday. With everything that had happened, he apparently hadn't noticed it before. How very clumsy of him; Fraser tried to keep from touching the cut against his teeth.

Time to prepare for the day ahead. 5 PM couldn't come fast enough.

_I know I have written little else but about Ray lately, but I can't seem to help myself. It's only been a few weeks since the first night that we've shared and I… I didn't know I could be this happy. Or that it could be this easy, for that matter. Having a physical relationship with Ray_, Fraser blushed at the sheer multitude of images that assaulted him at the thought, _is improving our partnership to an up-to-now unknown level of understanding. It is so very easy to read Ray when you know his body. He might try to fool you, to betray an uncertainty, or to protect himself, but his body language always betrays him. If you know what to look for. _

_Ray doesn't like to talk about his emotions – and I think I'm not much better at it – but in bed… Ray can't stop talking. It's remarkable how honest Ray is when he is lost to arousal. _

Fraser's heart beat faster when he thought about the first time he had made love to Ray. Ray had been so sweet… so hopelessly vulnerable… Fraser shivered at the thought. And Ray had begged him to, whispering hotly in Fraser's ear that he wanted to feel him inside, that he needed Fraser to… to… to _fuck_ him… Fraser's mouth went dry at the memory.

He could still feel Ray's legs gripping him around the waist, the way Ray's arms had held him close – as if Ray had been afraid to fall apart if he didn't hold on to him.

Ray had been so tight… so very hot… Fraser had never thought he could feel as if he were sharing the same skin with someone else, yet he'd felt this close to Ray.

The heated whispers… Ray's hot breath against his skin… mingled with broken moans and barely coherent pleas… Fraser never would've found the words to utter, but Ray had no reservations.

"Fraser…god… never thought you'd go for…ah…. more… please—yeah… skinny detectives… with—with experimental hair—god…"

Fraser had helplessly clutched Ray tighter, pushed harder into Ray, only to be rewarded by a grateful moan from Ray and a soul-searching kiss that had Fraser panting for air when Ray let him go.

"Wanted you… moment I saw you… but I—I was….Fraser—don't stop—don't stop—ah… was so messed up and damaged and you… oh god… you said you didn't know if you could…. yes—god—do that again—"

Afterwards, Fraser had held Ray tight, trying to make up for everything he couldn't put into words. Ray had always been the braver of the two when it came to honesty.

And then Fraser suddenly had the right words, had known them all along.

"I love you," he murmured into Ray's hair and he heard Ray's breath hitch and felt Ray's heartbeat accelerate underneath his hand before Ray pulled him in for a kiss, making Fraser lose the words altogether.

A knock on the door startled Fraser out of his thoughts. "Ah, come in," Fraser said, trying to get his thoughts back on track.

Ray's head appeared in the doorway.

"Hey there," Ray smiled. The smile widened as Ray took in Fraser's slightly flushed face. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No, I was… just thinking," Fraser's pulse jumped a little erratically. Thinking about Ray and sex when the man was standing right in front of him was terribly distracting. Fraser closed his notebook in front of him and Ray came over to take a look.

"You were writing again?" Ray asked with a nod in the direction of the little leather book.

"Yes, I can't seem to stop myself," Fraser explained with a slightly rueful smile.

"It's almost full," Ray remarked with raised eyebrows, as if the realization startled him. Fair enough, Fraser thought. It had astonished himself as well that he should've filled it up quite so quickly in just a few months. Only a couple of pages more and he would have to get a new one.

"I'm afraid I had a lot on my mind about which to write."

"Oh, trust me, I know," Ray said in a voice that sounded as if Ray indeed understood about the need to find an outlet for one's thoughts.

Ray looked thoughtful for a moment. His fingertips danced over the warm leather of the book.

"What do you think happens to the characters when a book comes to an end?"

"I believe the story ends," Fraser said.

Ray looked at him sharply. "You really think so?"

Fraser wasn't sure if he understood Ray's question correctly. "What other possibility is there?" Fraser asked, frowning at his notebook.

Ray grinned. It was that easy, devil-may-care smile that always stopped Fraser's heartbeat for a second before his heart managed to resume its regular pattern. "They're finally free, of course. The characters can do what they like, there's no author to control them and to spy on them anymore. The story goes on, even as the book runs out of pages to read. It's just that no one knows how the story is gonna end."

Fraser looked with surprise at Ray.

"That's—that's very poetic, Ray."

Ray shrugged. "That's my thing; on the inside I'm a poet, on the outside it's shake, bad guys, shake," Ray accompanied his explanation with a little boxing move.

Fraser smiled. "So I see. Is that what brought you here? Moral support with making some 'bad guys shake' as you phrased it?"

"Got it in one. You up for that?"

"Lead the way."

That night, Ray cooked for them, laughing throughout dinner about Fraser's surprise at his cooking skills. "Stella was busy studying for her bar so I did the cooking during our first years and I found that I liked it…" Ray shrugged a little awkwardly. "I mean, sure, I don't cook so often these days. Not worth the trouble for just one skinny guy."

Fraser's heart went out to this generous and loving man who knew loneliness as intimately as Fraser himself did.

After dinner, Fraser took Ray to bed. Tasting every inch of skin he exposed and making love to Ray as slowly as he could stand.

There was so much he wanted to share with Ray, things he wanted to experience together with him… sometimes Fraser was afraid that their time was limited and that the times where he could just reach out and touch Ray were already numbered. He chided himself; such fears were irrational. Insecurities like that were human enough, but they made him hold Ray a little tighter once in a while; they made him reach for Ray a little quicker now and again.

Maybe Ray's fears were similar to his own. Because Ray gave himself whole-heartedly. When they were naked Ray let go of all inhibitions, and Fraser wondered if this was Ray's version of making the most of this.

They weren't after all as different as Fraser had initially thought. Only on the surface. Underneath they were both afraid to trust their own happiness. 

**TBC on June 1st**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

Words: ~7.190

Rating: NC-17 (for porn and… uhm… emotional devastation)

Summary:Desperation - Where it all comes down

Fraser didn't have many prior experiences to compare with his relationship with Ray, but all in all he thought they were getting along better than ever before.

He didn't want to fight with Ray and he knew that a relationship required willingness to compromise. Besides, he didn't mind all that much. People were different and he was the last one to expect people to change who they were. Fraser also thought that he was doing a rather good job of it. They hadn't gotten into a single argument for over a week.

….but Ray was really making it incredibly hard for him.

Ray took a sip of coffee only to make a face half a second later.

"Gah… Fraser, what _is_ that?"

Fraser swallowed a snippy answer. Ray had been very trying throughout the day.

"I'd venture to say it's coffee, Ray," Fraser explained, praying for patience.

"Without sugar? Do I look like a health case?"

"It has sugar." A normal, teaspoon-sized spoon of sugar. He wasn't about to over-indulge Ray. Fraser had the sneaking suspicion that Ray was quite the hedonist at heart and that – given half the chance – Fraser might inadvertently create a monster. "I added a spoonful."

Ray frowned into his mug. "A spoonful? A spoon from a doll house, maybe."

Fraser had actually hoped that reducing Ray's sugar intake would make him more amenable. It was almost impossible to get along with Ray today and Fraser thought he had already been on the receiving end of some of Ray's… more… taxing moods… over the time of their acquaintance.

Fraser tried to find a topic with less potential to explode in his face, but opting to discuss boxing led to discussing protective helmets which Ray apparently felt very strongly about.

"You admit that I'm right or I'll pop you in the head," Ray's smile was all teeth.

How was one supposed to reason with this man?

"Well, in this case, Ray, I believe you're right," Fraser said tightly.

In the evening, Fraser tried to make a peace offering by suggesting getting a pizza. The offer was met by a ten-minute rant from Ray, complaining about Tony's warpath against everything pineapple.

"All right, then what would you like to eat?"

"Hey, I'm easy. I'll eat anything."

Fraser suppressed a sigh. He made an effort to smile. "Very well. How about Italian?"

"Again? We just had Italian on Monday—besides—"

Fraser was very tempted to tune Ray out.

He had high hopes when they arrived at Ray's apartment; hoping without any real cause that Ray's mood might improve over Thai food –to which he had finally managed to get Ray to agree – and some quality time on the couch.

Instead, they barely made it through the door before Ray pushed the limit – again.

Ray threw his keys on the side table which was already overloaded with knick-knack and change. The moment the keys slid over the wood a small avalanche of odds and ends cascaded to the floor.

"Fuck—fuck!" Ray exclaimed, trying in vain to catch the falling assortment of coins, spare keys, batteries, and whatever else Ray deemed useful to keep right next to the door… or that Fraser suspected Ray simply never got around to throwing out.

"You might consider using a small bowl in which to store your belongings," Fraser suggested. He was only trying to help. At least Fraser thought it was a helpful idea. Ray obviously didn't think so.

"Fraser, _bite me_," Ray snapped at him.

Something in Fraser broke. He had finally had enough. There were only so many buttons he could stand having pushed—he was only human after all. He had tried to be on his best behavior, but enough was enough.

In a sudden surge of frustration, he grabbed Ray and shoved him roughly against the wall. Ray thought Fraser should bite him? Very well, Fraser could do that.

Ray's eyes widened a fraction of an inch as he noticed Fraser's feral expression before Fraser's teeth clamped over the vein that was pulsating at Ray's throat.

It was a simple gesture; claiming dominance in the simplest possible way.

Ray's gasp stirred something in Fraser—it was raw—savage—Fraser loosened the grip of his teeth, about to release Ray and apologize when Ray's hand stalled him, clamping around Fraser's forearm like a vice. In his surprise Fraser bit down again.

Ray's groan was almost noiseless as his knees buckled. Fraser's arm shot out to keep Ray upright against the wall.

Fraser drew back, the lips still wet from where he had bitten Ray and he looked at Ray's flushed face. Without taking his eyes off Ray, Fraser sneaked his hand down and cupped Ray through his jeans.

"Frase," Ray whispered. He was hard.

Suddenly it was all frenzied. Fraser kissed Ray with a desperation that rivaled the frustration he had felt all day. Ray moaned into his mouth, holding on tightly to Fraser's blue shirt. Fraser had never been more relieved that he had to change into civvies because of an unfortunate incident featuring a bank robber and a truck of ice cream than he was at this very moment, when he felt Ray's fingers pull on the buttons.

Distantly, Fraser heard the ping of buttons hitting the wooden floor, but he couldn't begin to care because Ray was hot and aroused against him, and for every shove Ray pushed back – like some weird variation of a dance… or a match.

Fraser bit at Ray's lips, threading his fingers through Ray's hair until Ray's eyes lost all focus.

Ray panted into his ear. "'s that all you got, buddy?" he gasped with a wicked half-smile playing on his lips and Fraser lost the last bit of restraint. He gripped Ray tightly and pulled him in for another kiss, pulling him close.

He had Ray almost out of his clothes and he knew that they must've broken something when they had stumbled against the kitchen table, but Ray was right there and all that keyed-up energy was looking for an outlet and Fraser knew he could match it.

He manhandled Ray over the back of the couch, finally naked – well, at least naked enough – and Fraser pressed close against him, reaching past Ray to feel around the couch cushions. Sometime during last night's shenanigans the lube had ended up somewhere in the upholstery—there! Fraser's fingers closed around the plastic bottle.

Ray bit his lip as Fraser's fingers dipped between his cheeks. When Fraser reached down to slick himself up, his hands were shaking slightly with the effort to hold on.

He leaned close to Ray, putting his lips right next to Ray's ear. "Brace yourself," he murmured.

Ray nodded, too turned on to speak. He widened his stance.

Later, Fraser pulled Ray down to the floor with him, unable to keep upright any longer. Fraser pushed an arm over his eyes; the image of Ray, sweaty and sated, lying on the floor, was more than Fraser could take.

"…hell…" Ray gasped weakly beside him. Fraser was forced to agree.

"…God, I needed that…" Ray mumbled. Fraser had to smile despite his best intentions not to do so. "You don't say," Fraser murmured, completely unable to keep the smile out of his voice. He heard Ray turning over to look at him.

"Good to see you're back," Ray grinned cheekily. Surprised, Fraser removed the arm from his eyes. There was a fluff of dust sticking to Ray's hair.

"You didn't fight with me anymore," Ray elaborated. "I was starting to think you had broken your nag-o-meter or whatever is in that starch of your uniform that makes you contradict me all the time."

"My common sense, you mean?" Fraser offered innocently.

"Haha, you're a funny man, Frase, you know that?"

Fraser shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He reached up to remove the bit of dust and while his hand was already very conveniently in Ray's hair, he pulled Ray close for a kiss.

"I was trying to be more accommodating," Fraser said finally.

Ray scrunched up his nose. "That's—what's the word for it? D-u-m, dumb, Frase. We're good together… it's not the same without the snippy attitude."

Fraser couldn't help it, he began to laugh softly.

"You are the most impossible man I have ever met, Ray."

Ray smirked. "Now look who's talking. You got any other pot-kettle issues you wanna tell me about?"

Fraser pulled Ray close again, effectively silencing him with a slow kiss.

The next day, when Fraser came back from an errand he found Ray waiting for him at the Consulate.

"Hey Frase, would you mind joining me at the lakeside?"

Fraser observed Ray's body language. Ray really didn't want to go to the lakeside... that much was obvious.

"Of course, Ray. What is it?"

"I just got a call, a jogger found a drowned body. I can tell you…. drowned bodies are not a pretty sight," Ray shuddered. "Gives me the creeps just thinking about it."

The sight was indeed not particularly appetizing. But that wasn't what startled Fraser.

What startled him was the fact that he knew the victim. And the last time Fraser had seen him… Ray Vecchio had threatened to kill the man.

Ray looked slightly pale and the way he shot glances at the corpse made it clear that Ray was more than a little squeamish when it came to drowned bodies.

Ray fixed his gaze on some point over Fraser's shoulder. "What do you mean 'he threatened to kill him'?"

Fraser sighed and stood up. The face of the man was discolored and the water had done some awful things to the tissue, but there was no doubt that this was the same man Fraser remembered.

"The case involved the murder of a female escort who also provided services of the sexual nature—"

"You mean a dead hooker?"

"Well, essentially…" Fraser flicked a knuckle over his brow.

"Yeah, okay, go on. Then what?"

"Guy Rankin, the man we've just found floating in the lake they call Michigan, was the main suspect. He had been the cause of trouble for the women in the neighborhood and he had already been charged with assault for beating up a—a—"

"Yeah, prostitute, I got it."

Fraser pulled at his collar. "However, we couldn't find any proof that he was responsible for the murder."

"So, why the death threat then?"

Fraser really hoped that Ray Vecchio would forgive him for not keeping this confidential, but Ray needed to know this.

"A week later, Francesca was on her way home and Guy Rankin waited for her in an alley. I presume it was designed to provoke Ray and that this wasn't a coincidence. He wanted to get back at Ray."

Ray clenched his jaw. Fraser had noticed that Ray was very protective when it came to violence against women.

"Francesca screamed and it wasn't far from the Vecchio home. Ray and I had just ended our shift and Ray had just parked the car when he heard her scream. Ray was livid and if Francesca and I hadn't pulled him off... well, I believe the hospital would've had to care for him instead of for his victims. I remember Ray Vecchio threatened to kill him if he ever so much as glimpsed his face in the neighborhood again."

Ray chewed thoughtfully on a toothpick. "That's not looking too good for your buddy."

Fraser nodded. "Which is why we have to delay reporting the body until we have managed to account for his innocence."

Ray stared at him and he grabbed Fraser's arm. "Oh Frase… you're talking about suppressing evidence here."

Fraser shook his head. "Delaying, Ray; delaying reporting the body."

"Fraser you're not playing with a full mukluk. You're asking me to forget calling this in? I said I'd take the call, they'll be waiting for the report."

"Just a few hours, Ray; I know Ray Vecchio didn't do this. He's not capable of an act so monstrous, so hideous. So repulsive to the human condition."

Ray looked slightly worried at Fraser's expression. "Okay… fine… where do we put the body? If we take Rankin back to the 17th IA will be chewing on his ass – and ours for that matter - before he's even dry. The guy at the morgue is a stickler for protocol. I can't imagine persuading him to keep from booking the body for a few hours."

Fraser thought about this for a moment. "I might know a place…"

As it turned out, storing the body with Mort at the morgue of the 27th was remarkably easy. Mort was busy with his opera rendition and didn't even notice the additional body.

Back in the car, Ray gave a final shudder.

"Frase, promise me something, okay? I don't care how I bite the dust, but if I do—please make sure I don't get a water burial? I'm really not all that keen on dissolving into fish food."

Fraser suppressed a smile. "A human body does not actually dissolve, Ray."

"Hey, you haven't watched me yet."

"And you would be burned prior to the water burial."

Ray thought about that. "I could go for the burning thing. Isn't there something about the flames releasing the soul or something?"

Fraser nodded. "That is the customary belief, yes."

"Yeah, okay. Fire is okay, but I don't want to end up floating in some lake… I can't swim."

Fraser shook his head, bemused.

"Tell me one thing, how could Vecchio even have managed to kill the guy? Vecchio hasn't been working around here for months. And I've seen drowned bodies, trust me on this, this one hasn't been dead longer than a couple of days."

"Shellac," Fraser said.

"To you to," Ray replied, confused.

"No, no. What I meant is that Guy Rankin was doused with shellac; it's made out of bugs and is commonly used as an effective wood treatment. I noticed its very distinctive smell almost instantly – it's rather hard to wash off I'm afraid. It preserved the body, and the plastic bag in which the man was found protected him from the water until recently. He was in fact killed several months ago."

Ray looked shocked. "Wait, you mean he was in the water all this time?"

"Quite possibly. But something disturbed the body very recently. The decomposition of the body indicates that it has only been exposed to water for a few days as you said. There was work done on the sewage system very recently. I would venture to say that the body had been disrupted by that. It would account for the reason why it has only been found now."

Working on a month-old murder case wasn't exactly the most easily accessible investigation. What was pretty clear pretty fast was that Ray Vecchio could not have killed Guy Rankin. Because Guy Rankin had been the subject of an investigation concerning an illegal gambling ring only two months ago.

"Illegal gambling, illegal gambling..." Ray muttered. "Ha!" He shouted triumphantly, pulling out an old folder. "I knew it! Here, this guy?" Ray pointed to a picture of an immaculately-dressed gentleman with black hair, but an already graying beard. "This is Alex Farah. He's a real big player in the illegal gambling scene, but we've never been able to nail him. And guess what he's using as a front? Construction work. He owns this really big building company and does all of this upfront real estate stuff."

"That would account for the shellac," Fraser smiled at his partner. "That's good work, Ray."

"Thank you," Ray grinned back. "So Rankin got investigated and therefore ended up a liability and Farah probably wanted to get rid of him so he finished him off and fed him to the fishes."

"You really have an obsession with fish food, Ray. It's quite worrisome."

Ray shrugged. "I'm really more of a heat guy. I've seen _Nemo_ and I can tell you one thing, you don't wanna meet half the stuff down there."

"Nemo?" Fraser was confused. "If you are referring to Captain Nemo from Jule Verne's novel—"

"Fraser, forget I said anything."

"Understood."

Ray looked through his case notes again. "Okay, let me make a few calls and I think we can go and clear Vecchio's name before the night is through."

As it turned out they wouldn't be able to settle this case tonight. "They said something was going down at this address—some kind of warehouse – in the early hours of the morning. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean – I never saw anyone playing poker at 5 in the morning. That's stupid."

"Well, I imagine we will find out."

"Yeah, guess so... think the dead guy is fine with Mort for tonight?"

Fraser thought back for a moment. It was Tuesday... that should mean...

"I believe it will be fine. There is a special at Mendelsohn's, chicken tetrazzini with peach melba as dessert – if memory serves me correctly—"

"That is so interesting to me, Fraser."

"Ah yes, of course. In any case I believe that Mort will keep his dinner appointment so we should be safe as long as we get Guy Rankin out of the morgue before he comes in tomorrow morning."

"Deal."

Fraser leafed through the pages of his notebook. He hadn't expected to fill it so quickly. This was the last empty page. He wondered how his father had felt when he finished his very first journal. Fraser felt something like finality, staring at the blank page. As if he had been waiting for the last page to come, Fraser finally managed to admit something.

_I'm scared of letting go. –there, I said it. I trust Ray—I trust him with my life... so why can't I let go? In the short time that Ray and I have known each other intimately I have learned a lot about myself. I would like to say that I have learned of my past mistakes. But it seems to me as if some things aren't as easily overcome as others. I have let Ray see more of me than I ever thought I could possibly open up again. And yet... I wished I could lose myself; blindly trust in Ray and not be afraid to feel. Tomorrow we will face yet another potentially life-threatening situation and if—if... I don't want to have this regret. If anything happens to me I don't want to die without knowing how it would feel. To surrender. _

_I regretted it bitterly once to believe so firmly in the better side of someone. But I don't want to run away from my feelings forever. I already told Ray that I love him – how hard can it be to show him? ...words have always come easier to me... I know the words that I want to say and I hope that Ray's impulsive nature will follow through on them. I'm afraid I try too hard at times._

Fraser stared at the blank space that was still left. It was an odd feeling, but he couldn't really say why.

_Filling this last page feels strange. It feels like an end. _

Fraser's grip on Ray tightened as they rubbed against each other. The sheet beneath was cool against Fraser's heated skin. His fingers explored Ray's naked shoulders, the dip of his spine, the wiry strength of Ray's muscles. Ray gasped, pressing back, pressing Fraser into the mattress and Fraser answered Ray's hungry kiss helplessly.

"Ray..." Fraser whispered. Ray's hips moved against his again and Fraser forgot what he wanted to say. Ray's fingers seemed to be everywhere. "Ray," Fraser moaned. "Ray..." it seemed to be the only word Fraser could remember.

"Yes..." Ray panted. "...anything, Frase... whatever you want, Ben..."

Fraser's heart was beating rapidly. He knew the words. "Make love to me, Ray... please..."

The rhythm of Ray's hips faltered. "Oh god..." Ray groaned. "Yeah... god... yeah..."

Something in Ray's voice... something in the way Ray looked at him... Fraser thought that Ray had wanted this for a while.

Fraser turned around and swallowed hard. Ray's fingers were instantly on his jaw, pulling Fraser's face close for a bruising kiss. "I want you... so much... god, you have no idea..."

Ray's hands were back on his body, touching every inch of skin they could reach. Fraser had never felt so cherished by a touch.

There was a quiet 'click,' barely audible over Fraser's own labored breathing, and then Ray's fingers came back slick with lube.

"I got you... I got you," Ray murmured as he pushed the first finger in. It was hot—it was cold—hell, Fraser had no idea. Ray was almost plastered against his back and Fraser shivered with arousal.

Ray's finger circled the little opening again and Fraser heard someone make a hungry sound—but then the finger was back inside and it was so much better. Fraser panted against his forearm.

"You look so good," Ray murmured. A second finger pushed in next to the first and Fraser gasped at the stretch. He consciously relaxed his muscles and felt the finger slip in much easier. It felt—god—it was intense. Experimentally, Fraser pushed back—more stretch—more sparks—more—"More," Fraser gasped hoarsely.

"Jesus... Ben..." Ray gulped and slicked up a third finger. Fraser's whole world narrowed down to the spot where Ray's fingers entered him. No description could have prepared him for the feeling of being stretched and filled. Reading about nerve endings was one thing, but it didn't prepare you to actually experience it.

"Frase—I need to—god, please, let me..." Ray's hot lips brushed over Fraser's spine, his stubble scraped lightly over Fraser's damp skin, and Fraser couldn't think of anything more erotic.

"Yes..." Fraser moaned. He wanted to feel Ray—he wanted to feel more—he felt as if he had been starving all his life... until now...

"Relax," Ray murmured. And then he pushed.

Fraser pressed back, gritting his teeth a little against the burn, but not stopping until he felt Ray's body flush against his back.

Slowly, Ray pulled back a little bit and pushed in again. Just a little motion, letting Fraser adjust to the intrusion, but Fraser had enough of waiting. He arched his back, pushing back, and took Ray deeper.

"Ah… god…" Fraser let his head rest against the sheet. Ray pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips and Fraser rocked forward, moaning as the friction made his spine tingle.

Ray was talking, saying something Fraser couldn't make any sense of. He couldn't hear anything over his own moans and he couldn't concentrate on anything but on the push and slide of Ray's hips.

Suddenly, Ray gripped his hips hard and pulled them a little higher. When Ray slammed in again he added a little twist – something that reminded Fraser of watching Ray dance – and Fraser felt a sudden craving—an itch—he—he had no words to describe it.

"Again—oh please—Ray—oh—" Fraser babbled as Ray complied, hitting that spot inside again that made Fraser feel funny all over.

More—more—more—and hard wasn't hard enough and—Fraser _needed_ this, it was the most intense thing Fraser had ever felt—"Ray—" Fraser moaned helplessly and Ray reached around, gripping Fraser's erection tightly and suddenly Fraser was right there on the edge—

"Don't—" Fraser gasped. "Please… not yet…" he whimpered. He could hear the grin in Ray's voice as he answered.

"You're the only guy who doesn't wanna come," he panted in Fraser's ear. But he moved his hand lower and closed his fist tightly around the base of Fraser's dick.

Ray slung his other arm around Fraser's chest and continued to rock into Fraser, short, vicious stabs that rubbed against Fraser's prostate again and again, until Fraser's thighs were shaking with the effort to hold him up.

"Ray, Ray, Ray—" Fraser had no idea how long he had been chanting his name. "Please, let me—I want to—come, Ray, please—" Fraser begged and Ray moved his hand up in one smooth tug—and that was all Fraser needed. He came with a shout, shuddering all over, before he collapsed with a whimper. Ray's pace became frantic, pushing in once, twice—"Fraser!" Ray moaned and Fraser felt wetness as Ray came.

Ray rested his head against Fraser's back, breathing hard. He dropped next to Fraser and pulled him into a hug. Ray's smile looked positively wicked as he kissed Fraser softly on the mouth. Ray pulled back and winked at Fraser. "Never figured you for a screamer, Frase," he murmured.

Fraser blushed beet red. He hadn't noticed. "I—ah—I'm—"

"Nah, c'mon, don't clam up on me now." Ray's hands smoothed over Fraser's arms in a soothing gesture. Ray's smile softened. "I love you, too."

"I know," Fraser said sincerely. "And I you, Ray." It was impossible not to. His heart would never accept otherwise. Surrendering control was the most terrifying and the most rewarding thing Fraser had ever done.

Fraser had asked for leave for the next morning so that he could go and see if Ray's hunch was correct. He was still debating whether it was deceiving or not that he had given 'personal reasons' for his absence.

Fraser couldn't think of anything more personal than helping a friend, and since he and Ray were investigating in an unofficial capacity in order to keep Ray Vecchio out of it, Fraser had thought it imprudent to claim professional reasons.

Ray was still in the shower when Fraser straightened his lanyard, wincing as he noticed yet another paper cut on his fingers. Lately he was accumulating them. He couldn't remember ever being so clumsy when it came to handling paper. He should really be more careful.

He sat down at Ray's kitchen table and opened his notebook. Maybe it was time to bring his journal to an end. It seemed fitting enough after last night.

There was only a little over a paragraph left anyway. So much for final words, Fraser thought dryly.

_I am confident that we will find the real murderer - Ray's hunches have only very rarely been wrong. There is something I figured out last night... something I had probably known for longer than that. I want to make a home. Once we see this case through I want to find a place I can come home to. I always wanted to return to Canada, but I have finally understood that nothing keeps me from making a home until I can go back. _

_...and I think I couldn't find a home if Ray wasn't there. The idea of telling him this scares me, and yet I have a good feeling whenever I try to picture Ray's face. Maybe tonight, after we have cleared up this mess, I will ask him._ Fraser looked at the last empty line of his notebook. It needed an appropriate last sentence. His tongue sneaked out to wet his lips and then he nodded with a small smile on his lips.

_I want to come home._

His own daring shocked him. To hope, to make plans, however tentative, wasn't something Fraser usually entertained. Life rarely humored him.

Ray came out of the bathroom and grabbed himself a cup of coffee. "You done over there? We should get going." Ray seemed very serious, but it wouldn't have been the first time that Ray wasn't up to his teasing self before he had finished his coffee in the morning.

"Yes," Fraser smiled fondly at the black leather book in front of him. "I just finished the last page."

Ray downed the rest of his coffee and ambled over to where Fraser was sitting.

Ray looked thoughtfully at the small book before he grinned.

Cheerfully, he swept it up and pushed it into Fraser's breast pocket.

"Ray, what are you doing?" Fraser asked, bewildered.

"It's said that carrying a full book brings good luck," Ray said, waving his hand around as if to say 'you know'.

"In which culture?" Fraser asked, honestly puzzled.

"In... doesn't matter—hey, it saved your life once, right? Anyway, let's go."

For the sake of punctuality Fraser decided to let it go.

"How did you find out that Rankin's murderer is hiding out here?" Fraser motioned to the old building of a meat packing plant. "It does look deserted."

"Yeah, well if it didn't look deserted it wouldn't make for such a good hideout, now would it?"

"Point taken," Fraser conceded.

"Someone did me a favor. Ages ago we cleaned up after an illegal gambling ring—that's what got me thinking when we found out about Rankin. It was all a set-up for this one guy, Alex Farah. As I said, no one managed to nail him. He got away when the cover of our informant was blown," Ray sighed. "It was a cooperation with the Feds, I guess it's nothing less than we should've expected. I got our informant out in one piece... and her poodle, too," Ray frowned. Obviously, saving poodles wasn't very high on Ray's list of things to be proud of.

"She owed me a favor so I asked her if she could give us some pointers. Turns out, she knew even more than I had expected. Her brother worked for the guy at some point, got killed for his troubles from what I gathered. I don't know how that business figures in with the gambling, but she's a tough lady to read. Anyway, that's where all the threads led to. Home sweet home," Ray made a sweeping gesture towards the derelict building, as if he was inviting Fraser into a castle.

Quietly, they entered through one of the back doors. The alarm that went off was ear piercing.

"You know," Ray said conversationally as they ran for cover, "this is fairly well protected for a sleazebag like Farah."

"I'm afraid you're right. It looks like they've expected us," Fraser pressed out as they dove for cover behind some old crates.

They had barely made it before the first round of gunfire resounded.

"Really?" Ray asked sarcastically. "What tipped you off? The warm welcome?"

Ray sighed. "Fraser, just once I would like to say 'rack that bad boy and cover me.' Okay, go, I'll watch your back. I suppose it's best if we split up. We won't be one big moving target then. I'll try and get around. On three."

Fraser nodded.

"Three," Ray called and opened fire and Fraser hurried along the hallway and deeper into the building.

Behind the next corridor, Fraser took out a guard with a well-aimed punch to the neck. Something about this case bothered him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

It just seemed odd that an empty meatpacking plant should be this well guarded when the business they wanted to conceal was gambling. It didn't make any sense. So the question was what was Farah's real business?

The storerooms were packed with crates. For a meatpacking plant that didn't seem to be active Fraser found that quite the achievement.

Fraser pulled out a knife and lifted one of the lids. His eyes widened when they hit upon the content.

"Well, I hadn't expected that," Fraser admitted to Dief who whined, embarrassed. "No I don't blame you. Nerve gas doesn't have a particular smell, you couldn't have noticed it."

What were they doing with this amount of biochemical weaponry? So this was the real business, the gambling was just a blind, or maybe a past-time. Farah used his buildings for smuggling… but who provided him with this kind of weapon?

Dief growled deep in his throat and Fraser strained his ears. There was murmuring coming from one of the adjacent rooms. He needed to get closer. He hoped Ray was taking care of himself.

He listened carefully at the door, but the voices were too far away to belong to the room beyond it. Quietly, he pulled the door open and snuck into the next room.

Two men were talking. They were discussing a shipment… to Canada. Now Fraser remembered. Very recently three Mounties had been killed up North intercepting a shipment of nerve gas; he had seen the file. But he hadn't thought that this case was related to Chicago.

Ray should've been here already. What was keeping him so long? He crouched down to talk to Dief, making it easier for him to read his lips. "Go, find Ray."

Dief pricked up his ears and moved swiftly in the direction they had just come from. All Fraser had to do was keep the situation under control.

He pressed himself close against the wall and peered around the corner. His eyes instantly hit upon Farah who stood directly beneath a huge, slightly dusty skylight. He was talking to someone a little further beyond… Fraser craned his neck a little more—that—that just wasn't possible.

Fraser closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. This man… should be dead. Because Fraser's own father had watched him fall into a crevasse. But there was no mistaking him; there stood Holloway Muldoon. That explained the nerve gas… and the connection to Canada.

The tinkle of a glass bottle rolling over the floor made Fraser aware of where he was. His boot must've pushed it over. He had been so intent on watching the two men—

"Hey!"

"Oh dear."

Farah had turned around, aiming his gun at Fraser. Farah took a step closer, looking Fraser up and down with a bewildered expression.

For a second, Fraser saw a shadow move over the spot of light from the skylight… like someone passing the window.

"Who are you?" Farah spat, motioning with his gun at Fraser.

The man in the background broke into startled laughter. "Benton… I should've known. You've come to arrest me?"

"So you recognize me?" Fraser looked straight at Muldoon.

"Something clicked. Made me think of your father. And you know he didn't get me and I don't believe you will either."

Fraser's face hardened. "You know I'll never give up?"

Muldoon leered at him. "Well, this will make two members of your family that I've killed then."

For a second, the sentence had no meaning. Fraser stared at Muldoon trying to understand—trying to figure out if Muldoon was just trying to get to him—but Muldoon must've seen his confusion.

His grin brightened. "Oh, your father didn't tell you?" He made a disappointed clucking noise. "Your mother was a pretty woman, Benton."

His own name on Muldoon's lips made Fraser's skin crawl.

"But when I shot her, she dropped like a big old sack of potatoes."

Fraser gnashed his teeth and took a step in his direction.

"Enough!" Farah shouted and cocked his gun. The next moment, the glass of the skylight shattered, raining fragments of glass down on everyone. Ray fell through, pulling Farah to the ground with him.

Muldoon flinched back, his feet losing traction on the glass pieces on the floor. He collided with the counter behind him, sagging to the ground with a painful "ooph".

Ray shook his head, trying to get the glass out of his hair. He pressed his knee in Farah's back, sliding out a pair of handcuffs to slap around his wrists.

"Good work, Ray," Fraser's heart felt light with relief. Ray was alright. "Where's Dief?" He bent down to offer a hand to Ray. "Still up on the roof. I told the furface to wait."

Fraser was about to ask 'why,' but the moment he pulled Ray up he saw movement behind Ray.

Muldoon had regained consciousness. Fraser saw his hand going into his jacket to pull his gun out and Fraser opened his mouth to warn Ray when for one short glimpse he saw his mother, smiling at him. It only lasted for a second, but Fraser could see her clearly, standing right between Muldoon and him and she smiled this gentle, caring smile—and then she faded and Ray's name finally left his lips in a loud shout and Ray turned around, finger already on the trigger. The grim smile on his face was beautiful in its intensity.

The sound of the shot was deafening and Fraser saw surprise on Muldoon's face as his body rocked with the impact of the speeding bullet. Muldoon's hand went to his heart, covering the bullet wound, as his body sagged to the ground.

Ray had been lightning-quick and Fraser's heart was still beating too fast from the sudden adrenaline rush. He took a step in Ray's direction, already reaching out to touch Ray's shoulder, when Ray stumbled back against him.

Automatically, Fraser's hand came up to catch him, pulling Ray against his chest.

Bewildered, Fraser looked at Ray's face.

"Ray—what—" And then he saw the dark stain spreading over Ray's shirt. "No..." Fraser whispered tonelessly. Ray had been quick, but not quick enough. Disbelief marked every feature on Fraser's face. This couldn't be. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Fraser's heart plummeted as he lowered Ray's crumpling form to the ground.

A vest, Ray had to be wearing a vest. It was like a chant in Fraser's head. A vest, there had to be—and then Ray coughed. But Fraser couldn't stop repeating himself. "Ray, why aren't you wearing a vest? You are supposed to be wearing a vest!"

A weak smile appeared on Ray's lips before another cough interrupted him. Fraser could see the color drain from Ray's face.

"It's okay, buddy... had to—couldn't let him shoot you," Ray spluttered.

Fraser's vision was suddenly blurry and he tried to blink the tears away. "You shouldn't get hurt on my behalf. You shouldn't get hurt at all."

Ray smiled a little sadly. "You gotta trust me..."

And Fraser kept shaking his head, pressing his hand against the wound on Ray's chest where the shirt was almost completely drenched by now.

Fraser looked at his hands, drenched with Ray's blood. They were blue. "Ray... they're blue," and Fraser remembered echoing the same words a lifetime ago when Ray was hit by a knife. "Why is it blue, Ray?" He wiped a few drops from Ray's lips.

"You promised, Ben... no fish food... I warn you," Ray winced in pain. Fraser shook his head again, cradling Ray's body a little closer to his own. "You'll be fine, Ray."

Ray had to be fine. Ray couldn't—he would be fine.

"You're a terrible liar," Ray almost smiled. "Just—you promised me, Frase."

"Why did you tell Diefenbaker to wait?" Fraser pressed out, the voice choked with unshed tears. "Why, Ray?" Dief could've guarded Muldoon. If Dief had been there—if Ray hadn't told him to stay...

"...had to do this," Ray coughed. Had to do what, Fraser wanted to ask despairingly. Endanger yourself? Get shot?

"This story's finished, Frase," Ray said gently as his grip lost strength. And Fraser wasn't willing to let this go—to let Ray go. He wasn't done with this. This wasn't right. It wasn't fair. He'd do anything...

"Just like in the books... Ben... I'm—I'm sorry for... for hurting you this way—"

Impulsively, or maybe just to keep Ray from talking, Fraser pressed his lips to Ray's. The tears left hot tracks on his cheeks, but he didn't notice. Ray's lips were warm underneath his own. Fraser held Ray tightly.

And then Ray's body went limp.

Fraser buried his face in the crook of Ray's shoulder, fingers digging tightly into Ray's back, but not even Fraser's own shaking or his own sobbing could mask the fact that Ray's chest wasn't rising and falling anymore.

Only when someone was trying to pry his arms away did Fraser notice that they weren't alone anymore. The sound of police sirens filled the air and the woman next to him was wearing scrubs—someone had probably called an ambulance—and trying to make him let go of Ray.

"No..." Fraser murmured. "No... he...he's my partner..." Fraser repeated helplessly. But a second paramedic joined the first and very firmly, they pried his hands loose. They carried Ray to a stretcher and then they took him away.

Fraser kept sitting in the same spot, staring at his blue hands. Another woman came and fussed around him, checking for damage, and Fraser heard words coming out of her mouth, but they didn't make any sense. Ray was... dead...

Suddenly, a firm, thick hand settled on Fraser's shoulders. Fraser looked at that hand and then followed it up to the arm that went along with it until he reached the shoulder of the hand-owner and then the face. It was Lieutenant Welsh.

"You're lucky we do keep track of the stiffs in our morgue," he said conversationally.

Fraser stared at him blankly. How did that even matter anymore?

Welsh frowned at Fraser's vacant expression. "You did good, Constable."

Fraser felt hysterical laughter bubble up inside of him. The statement made so little sense. Good? Under which circumstances could the current situation be called 'good'? How could any world in which Ray was—was... be called good?

"Farah's in custody and Muldoon is dead – and Constable, whatever happened to the gun, I think it's best if we kept this thing between us. Of course it was self-defense, but there's no need to advertise it."

Fraser wasn't sure if he had ended up on a different planet after all. "I didn't... Lieutenant, I didn't shoot him... Ray did."

Welsh looked long and hard at him. "Fraser, listen, I know things have been tough on you, but I assure you that Ray Vecchio had nothing to do with this."

Fraser was close to breaking. It just wasn't—why couldn't people simply leave him be?

"Damn!" And Fraser didn't even flinch at the surprise on Welsh's face at his swearing. "Not Ray Vecchio! I'm talking about Ray—Ray Kowalski, who—who—" died saving me, Fraser thought hopelessly. Dear God. He needed— "Where did they bring him?"

"Who?" Welsh looked seriously uncomfortable now.

"The paramedics, of course. Where did they bring... him... his... body?" The last word was all but whispered.

"There—there was no body, Fraser. You've had a shock. Listen, you've been shot—"

"Nothing happened to me! I'm fine," Fraser shook his head.

Welsh crouched down to touch the pocket on Fraser's serge. "And what do you call this?" He asked gently, pointing at the hole that was gaping in the fabric right where his heart was.

Eyes wide, Fraser reached into his pocket only to have his fingers close around his notebook.

Embedded right in the middle was Muldoon's bullet.

Welsh looked surprised. "This bit of leather saved your life? I would've bet money it couldn't even protect you from a toy gun. Guess you got lucky." Welsh thumped him on the back encouragingly.

Fraser kept sitting on the ground, staring at the notebook. "I don't... I don't understand..." he murmured, fingers tracing the bullet stuck between the pages.

**TBC on June 8th**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

Words: ~ 5.150

Rating: PG

Summary: Fiction – The willing suspension of disbelief 

Fraser had no other choice but to let himself be taken to the hospital. Lieutenant Welsh made sure of that.

It was the worst nightmare of Fraser's life… and he had some experiences to compete with that. It took him almost an hour to convince the staff at the hospital that he wasn't insane. It was his own fault mainly, but he couldn't stop asking about Ray and the more people shook their heads and denied any knowledge of a patient by that name, the more distressed Fraser got. He needed to see him, just one final time. Just to… just to make sure.

Fraser's description of the two nurses who took Ray away didn't help his case either. The doctor was afraid he was hallucinating due to post-traumatic-stress disorder. He wasn't. He had suffered a trauma and he was under stress, but he wasn't hallucinating.

Ray wasn't in the hospital. And Ray wasn't in any of the other hospitals in town. Or the morgues. Fraser spent the better part of the night and the next day calling any place in town he could think of, but no one had ever heard of Ray Kowalski.

Something was very wrong. Fraser wanted answers. Welsh looked surprised when Fraser appeared at the 27th the very next day. Well, Fraser supposed his scruffy appearance might have had something to do with it. But he hadn't slept and his personal attire hadn't been very high on his list of priorities this morning.

"Constable, what are you doing here? You should be in the hospital – or if they couldn't keep you, you should at least rest. My station is definitely the wrong place for you."

Fraser squared his shoulders. "Lieutenant, if I may have a word with you?"

Welsh sighed but waved him into his office anyway.

"I can only hope that this is a question about where to go for a nice little timeout."

"Sir, an officer has been… wounded," and Fraser damned himself for not being able to say 'has died' but the words wouldn't come. "His body went missing shortly afterwards without any discernible trace. I can only imagine foul play at this stage."

"I thought not," Welsh pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I need your help to find Detective First Grade Ray Kowalski."

"Fraser, I have no idea what you're talking about," Welsh said in oddly comforting tones.

Fraser stared at him. "The officer whom I have accompanied these last few weeks. He's 5'10-1/2", blond hair, and—sir, are you telling me that you have no recollection of the man that arrested the murderer of Mr. Tucci or the purse-snatcher from the jewelry theft?"

For the first time, Welsh looked as if he had done this job for too long and had seen too much.

"Sit down, Constable," Welsh reached in his drawer and got a bottle of Scotch and two glasses out. Fraser frowned but sat down.

"A cop and his partner… that's a special bond. I know more than one damn fine officer who didn't cope with losing his. I know that Ray Vecchio's departure was sudden to say the least and I know that you two have been tight—"

"I fail to see what Ray Vecchio's assignment has to do with finding Ray Kowalski?"

Welsh looked sympathetic and pushed a glass of Scotch in Fraser's direction.

"Acceptance is the first step, Fraser. Stress can do weird things—"

Fraser pushed to his feet. "With all due respect, sir. Are you implying that Ray Kowalski is nothing more than a projection of my subconscious—"

"All I'm saying is that a bit of a break would do you good. Get a change of scenery."

Fraser had a hard time getting the words out.

"Thank you for your time," Fraser pressed out before closing the door with a little more force than strictly necessary.

He didn't have time to get his emotions under control because he almost immediately ran into Francesca.

"Ah, Francesca. Do you remember the detective I introduced to you?" Fraser's mouth felt dry as he waited for her answer.

Francesca's face looked small and drawn. "Fraser…you—" she bit her lip and averted her eyes for a second. "I don't mean this in a bad way, this is just part of who you are, but… sometimes you… you talk to thin air—not that there's anything wrong with that," she rushed through her sentence. "I thought you were just… that you were… and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, so I…" Frannie wrung her hands, looking terribly upset.

"It's—it's alright," Fraser mumbled in a daze.

No one remembered meeting Ray.

For a moment Fraser sank into a chair just trying to get his bearings. Frannie was still fluttering around him, nervously trying to reassure him, but Fraser hadn't slept for almost two days and too much had happened and he simply didn't have any resources left to assure her that he was alright.

"Hey Fraser, you okay?"

Fraser looked to his left to find Detective Huey looking down at him with a frown.

Of course! Fraser suddenly found new hope. Detectives Huey and Dewey had worked on the Orisini case – they had to know what he was talking about.

"Do you remember Detective Ray Kowalski?"

Huey's face was blank. "You mean Ray Vecchio, right?"

Fraser's hope sank. "No, I mean Stanley Raymond Kowalski. You worked with him on the case involving Alderman Frank Orsini," he elaborated.

Dewey appeared at Huey's shoulder. "Can't say I remember him."

"Of course you can," Fraser snapped, frustrated. "You helped to protect his ex-wife, Stella Kowalski."

Dewey snorted. "Look, pal, that was a movie, okay? Marlon Brando isn't really Stanley Kowalski. I know you don't get much television up in the frozen North, but—"

"This has nothing to do with a movie—which happens to be an adaption of a play by Tennessee Williams if you have to make a joke out of it. I am talking about two people of flesh and blood," Fraser exclaimed exasperatedly.

Dewey shook his head sadly. "Listen, a guy named Stanley Kowalski who's got a wife called Stella? …Fraser, I hate to break it to you, but you gotta stop trusting people like that."

"He's not—he goes by Ray…" Fraser trailed off feeling foolish.

Dewey patted him sympathetically on the back.

"I am not joking. You _know_ him!" Fraser tried again, more vehemently.

"Whoa, all right. Keep it cool there. What's got your knickers in a twist?" Huey asked.

Fraser decided to change tack.

"I am talking about the woman that you helped to protect."

Huey and Dewey exchanged glances.

"What are you talking about, Fraser? We protected the Alderman. The woman was Officer Sheridon; she only acted as his date to make a believable couple for our ruse."

"—which didn't work out if you remember," Dewey chimed in.

Fraser had the intense urge to throttle him. Whatever he could say would not be nice. So Fraser managed to bite out an 'Excuse me' before he stormed out of the bullpen.

Confused didn't even begin to cover it. His head was reeling and there was no way out. Dief was the only one who mourned as well, the only one who showed recognition at Ray's name. And it hurt… the pain made it hard to breathe. Fraser lay on his cot, gasping for air, trying to get back a shred of control, but it was useless.

He didn't know when sleep finally took pity on him, but when it did it was for a restless night, filled with oddly shaped dreams that were bathed in blue. The only thing he remembered when he woke up was Ray's voice. And the way Ray had said his name.

Fraser looked as tired as he felt. Mechanically, he went through his morning routine to at least keep up appearances that this was just another day.

Lieutenant Welsh must've called Inspector Thatcher because she had suspended him for the time being – not unkindly. For her usually carefully professional behavior she was almost gentle when she told Fraser to take a few days off.

Fraser knew that resistance was futile so he made the most of it. He sat down to think this through methodically. He needed a plan. There had to be some nefarious reason why everyone claimed not to remember Ray.

The Orsini case had started him on an idea and Fraser felt sure that he had to be successful at some point. What other choice was there?

Explaining his involvement in the case with the self-made bomb to Orsini's secretary got Fraser an instant interview with the man himself.

Fraser's blood was thrumming with excitement. Orsini had called Ray himself. Orsini had shaken hands with him. He _had_ to remember.

Orsini's blank politeness surprised Fraser as they shook hands over the Alderman's desk.

Orsini motioned for Fraser to sit down and then followed suit. "So… Constable, was it?"

"Ah, yes. Constable Benton Fraser—" Fraser stopped explaining his business as he noticed that Orsini made a note of his name. It perplexed Fraser that Orsini didn't remember his name after everything that had happened.

"Right, right. What did you want to talk to me about? You said it was important?"

"Yes, do you remember the evening of the bombing? I wanted to ask you about the investigating officer."

Orsini smiled congenially. "Of course. Me and a female acquaintance went to an open air theater production in—"

"Classical music," Fraser corrected automatically.

"Excuse me?"

"It was a classical concert and your acquaintance was an officer of the 27th police precinct."

Orsini's smile was frozen for all of a second before he started nodding and laughing apologetically. Almost unobtrusively, Orsini's eyes flicked over a notepad on his desk.

Fraser read the writing upside-down. Orsini had written down the key events of that evening.

"Sir, is it possible that you can't remember what happened that night?"

Orsini's smile vanished. He looked tired all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry, Constable. I suffered from blunt head trauma after the explosion. I was very lucky, I have been told. But I did lose about a month of my short term memory. I can't even begin to tell you what a scandal that would've been for my career had it gotten out."

Fraser had no interest in discussing politics. "So you don't remember the woman you dated during that time, Miss Stella Kowalski?"

Orsini's smile was polite but blank. "I'm sorry I can't be of more assistance."

Fraser left deflated. At least Orsini's loss of memory was reasonable. Fraser mentally crossed the first clue off his list. Fraser pondered this strange coincidence on his way back to the Consulate.

No one remembered Ray and there seemed to be no proof for the existence of Stella Kowalski either. The longer he thought about it, the more things came to mind that didn't add up. What if that was the reason why no one had remembered mixing a drink for Stella? Because there had been no one of that name… No, he couldn't start thinking that way. He would drive himself insane with that line of thinking.

Dief whined next to him.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Are you hungry?"

Dief whined again, louder this time. Fraser's own stomach rumbled in accord. When was the last time he had eaten?

"No, no you're right. We have to take better care of ourselves if we want to find Ray."

Still, half of the food on his plate stayed untouched. He wasn't hungry. Because he could only forget for a couple of minutes at a time that even if he found Ray…. Ray would still be… he'd still be gone.

Fraser escaped again in a flurry of motion. He called Francesca to access the file of the Tucci case.

"….yes, here… " The brightness in Francesca's voice sounded like plastic. "Wait a second—ah, right: Jurisdiction of the 19th precinct—"

"You mean 17th precinct?" Fraser asked.

There was a moment of silence before Frannie's voice could be heard again. "Uhm, no. It says 19th. The arresting officer was…oh." Frannie stopped, surprised. "It was Ray. Ray _Vecchio_," she emphasized in a conspiratorial tone.

"…thank you… Francesca…" Fraser choked out and hung up. A tremor was moving through his right hand which was still gripping the telephone. He couldn't release his grip and he couldn't stop the shaking. A sob escaped his lips no matter how tightly he pressed them closed.

With a supreme amount of effort, Fraser evened his breathing until he had his sobbing under control. He couldn't lose his head. There had to be a reason for all of this... this madness.

After he had calmed down, Fraser considered his next move. He didn't want to call Francesca again, but he thought that he should be able to find a few newspaper clippings about the Tucci case. Maybe he could find out in which prison Steve Hubbell ended up. He might be willing to talk to Fraser. He sat down in front of the computer and fed 'Steve Hubbell' into the search engine.

The first hit produced a link to a theater performance of 'A Streetcar Named Desire.' Fraser stared at the computer screen. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Fraser tipped 'Harold Mitchell,' hoping to maybe find a funeral notice. The first thing he found, though, was a list of actors considered for the role of Harold 'Mitch' Mitchell in the movie production of 'A Streetcar Named Desire.'

Fraser broke into a sweat. This could not be a coincidence... could it? Suddenly he could see Robert Mitchell's address swim in front of his vision: New Orleans... Elysian Field Avenue... just where... where the play... was set. Fraser had to consciously concentrate not to start shaking.

He pushed away from the computer with enough force that the chair collided with the boxes stored on the shelves behind him.

There had to be something else... there had to be—there was one person he could ask.

"Yes?"

Fraser hadn't thought that time would find him on Luanne Russell's doorstep again.

"Ah, I'm sorry to disturb you," Fraser started haltingly. He could still see Ray kiss her; it was unnerving.

Luanne on the other hand seemed almost pleasantly surprised to find him at her front door.

"What can I do for you?" Fraser remembered what her smoky voice had been able to do to his friend's composure.

"I wanted to ask you a few questions about Ray Kowalski."

She frowned. "Excuse me, who? I'm not sure—"

"Ray, Ray the man who asked you out on a date, my colleague who was here with me for the interview about Mr. Tucci, the pretzel vendor, he—he gave you his phone number on a slip of paper!" Fraser rambled through all the facts he could think of. At the mention of the phone number her face brightened.

She smiled knowingly at him. "Ah, _that_ friend, you mean," and she left the door open before she vanished into the hallway for a moment.

Fraser was left staring rather unintelligently at the open doorway. _That_ friend? What was that supposed to mean?

She came back flicking a piece of paper at him. "Do you mean this number?" She smiled again, looking almost too long at Fraser for him to be comfortable.

Confused, he took the parchment from her fingers and looked at the phone number. Shocked, his head flew up to stare at her.

"...pity your _friend_ never called," Luanne said in a low voice before she stepped back to close the door in Fraser's face.

Fraser was left staring at the piece of paper. With his name on it. And the number of the Canadian Consulate underneath.

He had never written this note. Fraser turned around and around again, staring bewildered at his surroundings. But the house was there and she really lived there and... it was as if Ray had never existed.

— but that 6-year-old girl at the graveyard, with the dream catcher, she had talked to Ray, Fraser was sure of it. She had seen him as well. Suddenly, Fraser wasn't so sure anymore, though. Hadn't he himself doubted Ray's presence those first times when he had thought he had seen him at those crime scenes when he had investigated the fires?

Dief and he had turned the corner and Ray had been gone.

Stumbling, Fraser reached the park around the corner from Luanne's apartment. Without consciously thinking about it, he collapsed on one of the benches. What about the way Ray had vanished after the knife incident? ...maybe he hadn't gone home... maybe he had simply evaporated... he was already gone by the time Huey and Dewey arrived on the scene...

Fraser put his head in his hands. –the second knife! He jerked upright again and pulled the notebook out of his pocket. He hadn't been able to let it out of his sight since... since... he winced. The gash was still clearly visible on the leather cover, just slightly below the spot where the bullet had penetrated it. What if there hadn't been a _second_ knife...? He knew he hadn't seen one. ...the knife incident had been the only time, except for this last fatal encounter, where he even had the notebook on his person...

Fraser tried to get his thoughts in order. Okay, but what about Greta Garbo then? Ray had protected him then, too. He had been wearing a vest... hadn't he? All Fraser had was Ray's word for it. Ray hadn't shown him. Fraser stared at the notebook. What if only the notebook could get hurt?

Fraser frowned. That thought didn't sit well with him at all. That was _insane_—ludicrous even! The thoughts of a mad man— and not the Hamlet version of mad. This was straightjacket material... well, he did have experience with that.

Fraser rubbed a hand over his face. Yes, he did have a history of mental instability – at least if you asked other people.

What if this was all in his head? Oh God. What if it really was just a reaction to Ray Vecchio's abrupt departure? –a projection called into existence by his inability to cope with the loss of the only real friend he had.

Fraser's head flew up as his eyes widened in panic. When was the last time he had seen his father? Fraser stared unseeing over the green lawn of the park. Months, it had been months. He hadn't seen his father since Ray Vecchio had vanished... sometime during his holiday possibly. For all the times Fraser had wished his father would disappear to –wherever he had been before he had started haunting him—Fraser would've liked to rely on the normalcy of his visits.

Normalcy, Fraser wanted to laugh. Or cry. He had no resources left. And there was no one left to tell him what he should do now.

Was that it?

Had Ray simply been another form of his fragmented psyche? Wouldn't that explain everything?

If anyone had asked him what he had done with his days, Fraser couldn't have told them. Time just passed. In one way or another. Just to torment himself, Fraser went to Ray's apartment... or the place Fraser's head had created for Ray to live in. The spot next to the doorbell where the name tag was supposed to go was empty.

Fraser rang the bell of the landlady and she was kind enough to tell him that the apartment had been empty for months.

Months... too long to be possible... but he had already known that.

By now Fraser knew every word in his notebook by heart. It was the only proof that Ray had existed anywhere. Even if it was just in his own head... and what other possible explanation was there?

After a week, Fraser had exhausted all leads, had checked up on everything he thought promising... only to come back with more zero.

Fraser took up his duty at the Consulate again. Just to stay occupied for at least a few hours every day. Inspector Thatcher was always talking in soft tones to him nowadays. Had Fraser considered it worth the effort, he would have felt insulted. As it was, it was all he could do to just get through his day.

Turnbull was remarkably easy to get along with these days and Fraser thought with a slightly hysterical laugh if that wasn't the best proof of his crumbling mind yet.

Francesca kept on inviting him over to the Vecchios for lunch, dinner, sport occasions, anything at all that might attract Fraser's attention, but he couldn't face the loud, boisterous and loving Vecchio household.

Missing his old friend was bad enough without having his family pretend that Fraser didn't lose his mind over it.

Fraser still spent enough time at the 27th. He didn't even know why exactly. In a way he still hoped to hear from Ray Vecchio at some point... and in a way he felt as if this was where his connection with Ray had ended. So many things Fraser had never questioned, but that know left him wondering how he never thought them odd. Fraser had never been to the 17th police precinct. Ray had never mentioned any names of colleagues or previous partners—of course not— if it had all been inside of Fraser's head he couldn't have known anyone from that precinct.

Huey and Dewey were sympathetic in their own way. Just recently they had started coming up with one-liners about zombies – which Fraser was given to understand was an analogy to his own state of being. He supposed it was their attempt to cheer him up and he really appreciated their efforts. If not their tact.

He was about to knock on Lieutenant Welsh's door, just to hear again that there was no news, when Fraser heard Welsh talking to someone, apparently on the phone because Fraser couldn't hear the other side.

"Thanks for letting me know, Inspector Thatcher," Fraser distinctly heard Welsh's gruff voice. "Yes, I was afraid this was coming," Welsh sighed. "He hasn't been the same since Vecchio left. This thing with the murderer of his mother... would've been a shock to anyone," Welsh was quiet, apparently listening to the other side of the conversation.

"Yeah, I had the same idea. I'll see what I can do, might take a while. There's a lot of paperwork involved..."

Fraser let his hand drop down again. He turned around on his heel and strode out of the bullpen again. He had forgotten what he wanted to ask.

That night, Fraser settled down on his cot with the notebook again open in his lap. His fingers smoothed over the page... I miss you, Fraser thought bitterly.

He flicked through the pages and winced when he cut his finger. Stupefied, Fraser watched the paper cut on his index finger. The paper cuts. They had been real. And he didn't have a single recollection of acquiring any of them. But he remembered touching Ray. Over and over. In countless scenarios.

His heart beat faster all of a sudden. He couldn't have imagined all of this. He didn't need the pages to conjure Ray before him; he could still see him so clearly in front of him. The passion... the way his cheek had smarted when Ray had hit him... all of his heartache... no, he hadn't thought that up.

Of course it had eased his loneliness—and of course it had made Ray Vecchio's absence easier. But his mind had not been trying to substitute Ray Vecchio—and had it wanted to, wouldn't it have made more sense to conjure up the man himself?

No. Fraser wouldn't accept it.

He had spent over a week trying to tell himself that he was insane, maybe he should just accept it. Something strange had happened, of that Fraser had no doubt. But there couldn't be a world in which Ray Kowalski had never existed. If he stopped looking for a reasonable explanation... Ray was real. He had to be. And Fraser would gladly live with insanity if that meant he could spend it with Ray.

"It's a funny one," Fraser intoned in a whisper. Those had been the words of the shop-keeper as he had bought the notebook. Yes, people hadn't liked it much, he had said.

The idea alone was preposterous. Was he really considering that something about the notebook had filled Ray with life? Fraser frowned again.

He had already hit rock bottom. What was there to lose?

And it fit... didn't it? The way Ray had always smelled of printing ink and had droplets of ink clinging to his fingers... and his strong aversion to water—and how the notebook had been drenched in the course of a curious incident right after Ray and he had to jump into the lake. That couldn't all be unrelated. And Ray wouldn't go into a burning building even though he had proven time and again that he was no coward and would follow Fraser into the most dangerous situations...

And of course, the strongest suggestion of all. Fraser's fingers stroked gently over the bullet imbedded in the notebook. A bullet that hadn't hit him.

He could still see his hands bathed in Ray's blood; blood the color of royal blue ink. A pen, Ray had said that first time when he was wounded by the knife. Maybe he had told the truth. The pen had been Fraser's.

It couldn't be worse than what he had tried so far, Fraser concluded. But then again, hopelessness might be preferable. It was easier to survive. And people had thought him insane before. Fraser chuckled. It wasn't a very relieved sound—but gallows humor couldn't be choosy. "Dief, come on. Let's find Ray."

Together they tried to find the shop again. Maybe he could find another one of these notebooks. Or the shop-keeper might know where to find another one; maybe Fraser could mail order one from the manufacturer. Just because it was the last of its line didn't mean there wasn't another one out there somewhere.

Fraser retraced his steps from that one afternoon walk so very long ago. A life ago, Fraser thought. He was sure that he was on the correct street, but... bewildered, Fraser looked the street up and down. There had to be a sign somewhere... but there wasn't one.

Tennessee W. – Fraser suddenly remembered. That had been the name of the shop. His heart sank. This did not bode well.

He was almost certain that the shop had been next to a boarded-up apartment complex and an old secondhand record store. There was an office space between those two buildings. But it looked long forgotten. The windows were dusty and the interior of the whole building could be described as 'grimy' at best.

Fraser peered through the dirty glass. The shop seemed to have been abandoned years ago – not a few months – if the amount of dust and debris was anything to go by.

This – whatever _it_ was – had nothing to do with logic.

What else could he do?

Over the next few days, Fraser went through his entries again in an ever more desperate attempt to find some clue, any clue whatsoever. There had to be a solution.

Fraser noticed a pattern. At first he wasn't sure, but when he went over his entries yet again there was really no mistaking this. Whenever he had complained about not seeing Ray for quite some time he hadn't written anything in his notebook for a period of a few days. And the more he had written, the more frequent his encounters had been. Until he had seen Ray every day.

Maybe it was about the writing. If he couldn't buy the same notebook, maybe another one would do the trick as well. Fraser went into the largest shop he could find to look for a suitable replacement. He handled countless different notebooks, always expecting to feel _something_ when he got the right one.

He didn't feel any different though. After a while he just felt foolish. It wasn't as if the black notebook had felt peculiar or anything – he had simply taken a fancy to it. So he cast his glance about for any journal that caught his eye.

Okay, so maybe he went for similarities, but he really had no idea how this was supposed to work. The new one was again a small black leather book, but it didn't look half as battered as his old one. The missing bullet hole notwithstanding.

Back at the Consulate, Fraser could feel his heart beating in his throat. So this was it, he mused as he opened it and poised his pen.

It wasn't as if he didn't have enough to write about. Weeks of torment and heartache and loss just spilled onto the page, leaving fat, ugly blotches on the paper now and again. He described Ray as minutely as he could, trying to capture his personality as well as words were able to. For the first time in a long while, Fraser realized that words didn't necessarily help to express something. It seemed that the more he tried to describe Ray the further away he got from the original.

How was it even possible to portray all the varying sides of a person without misleading the reader? But he couldn't stop. It had worked once... if he set his disbelief and his mental health aside for a moment.

For three days, Fraser did little else but write feverishly. In a way he feared that writing too little might botch the whole experiment. In breathless anticipation, Fraser was an even keener observer than usual. If Ray decided to show up, even for nothing more than a glimpse, Fraser would be ready.

But Ray didn't show.

Frustrated, Fraser sat at his desk with his head in his hands. He had tried and failed.

Dief whined softly beside him. Fraser looked up and smiled.

"I appreciate it. I know that you grieve for him as well."

Dief wagged his tail and yipped excitedly.

"No, I assure you I know that you understand. It has been clear to me from the beginning that you never doubted Ray's existence."

But this time Dief's opinion might just be the proof that Fraser did belong in a mental institution after all. Maybe he had been crazy all along. What could he say in his defense? _I'm sorry, but my deaf half-wolf can support my claim?_

Dief grumbled.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the trustworthiness of wolves in general," Fraser pacified his lupine friend.

And now? Fraser took Ray's notebook into his hands again. "Tell me, what am I supposed to do now, Ray?"

**TBC...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10**

Words: ~9.580

Rating: PG

_Thanks again to Ride-Forever and her brill beta :-) All remaining mistakes are my own._

Fraser lay on his cot, unable to sleep. He was all out of ideas. The reasonable explanation would be to accept that he had finally succumbed to madness. His last psychological examination had been a little less than reassuring on the subject of his mental stability… and talking to his dead father really didn't help his case… talking to his dead father, right…

Fraser sat up abruptly. Maybe he had had a hole in his bag of marbles for a much longer time—but if he could talk to his dad then why shouldn't it be possible to speak to Ray? Decisively, Fraser strode over to his closet and flung the door wide.

A row of hangers and a shelf bearing blankets greeted him.

Fraser closed the door again, counted to ten, and pulled the door open again. Still nothing. There was just his closet. No cabin in the middle of the wilderness. As if his dad had simply decided he didn't need an office after all.

Exhausted, Fraser fell into his office chair. Somehow, being able to visit his usual hallucination would have been reassuring. Now he felt as if he had really lost his mind – he couldn't have imagined _everything_, could he?

Sleep was the farthest thing from Fraser's mind. He needed something to calm his frayed nerves. So Fraser went into the kitchen to make tea. His grandmother had used tea as a cure for literally everything. Fraser had soon learned that tea didn't really help when you hurt, but it did provide a soothing kind of comfort that made the hurt easier to swallow.

Fraser filled water in the kettle and opened a drawer to get the box of matches out. He struck a match and ignited the gas flame. He almost burned his fingers his eyes were so mesmerized by the blue flame.

'Isn't there something about the flames releasing the soul or something?' Fraser heard Ray's voice in his ear. Ray made him promise not to get him a water burial… Ray's last words had implored him – multiple times in fact – to remember his promise. The blue flame kept dancing merrily on the stove.

Maybe Ray had known… he had seemed so calm… so damn calm… Fraser gripped the tabletop tightly.

After several deep breaths, Fraser managed to put the kettle on. He needed to think this through.

Back in his office with a steaming cup of tea at his elbow, Fraser contemplated what this would mean. There was no—no body to burn… which meant that if Fraser was supposed to burn Ray's remains… he had to…

His eyes flicked to his notebook that was lying, as always, right in front of him on his desk. He had to burn the notebook.

Fraser swallowed hard. But the notebook was his only connection to Ray—the only proof of his existence. If he burned that then… he would have nothing but memories. And if it didn't work then nothing could undo the damage. The notebook would be gone forever and with it all accounts of Ray.

It took Fraser a week to work up the necessary courage to follow through with his idea. And had it not been for Turnbull, Fraser might never have reached that point. But missing Ray was almost... tangible, a sentient being that controlled all of his thoughts. It was a longing so fierce he was left brittle and wide open.

His old colleagues at the 27th and the Vecchio family were very sympathetic… but that only made it worse. No one remembered Ray. No one understood how much Ray had meant to him. His sudden and astonishingly bright smiles. The way Ray's fingers understood him so well; he had always known exactly how to touch him... Ray's talking had been so animated... so alive... Fraser took a shuddering breath.

He had no one to talk to about his loss. What was even worse: people actually pitied him for feeling the loss at all. They didn't understand that his grief was real… because they didn't think Ray was.

When the weekend came around, though, Constable Turnbull asked him if Fraser might be able to provide him with a few items for a small camping trip. Despite the cold and the hint of snow in the air Turnbull assured him that it was the perfect condition to brush up on his astronomy knowledge. Fraser thought that Turnbull was probably just trying to help in his own way, keeping Fraser occupied, providing him with some little distraction.

He didn't really believe that Turnbull's flashlight had just now broken down or that he had really run out of waterproof matches; no self-respecting Mountie would leave the house without those. No, Fraser supposed that Turnbull did it solely for his benefit.

"Constable Fraser, would you care to accompany me?" Turnbull asked after a very improbable story about the first time he had spent the night underneath the stars.

Fraser shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm afraid I wouldn't be such good company—excuse me, I'll go fetch those matches. I'll be back before you can say Jimmy Crack Corn."

Before Turnbull could argue with him, Fraser escaped to the relative safety of his office. He leaned back against the door and sighed with relief.

He pulled a small box out from one of the shelves to get the matches. His heart stuttered in an erratic pattern as his hands grazed a small, smooth metal object. A benzene lighter…. Ray's benzene lighter. Gently, Fraser's fingertips glided over the cold surface. He had camped in the wilderness with Ray once… well, Ray had insisted that a park in Chicago was not an approximation of wilderness, but still… Fraser's eyes crinkled with a soft smile.

They had cooked spaghetti over an open fire and traded ghost stories. Ray's lighter must've ended up with the paraphernalia when they had collected their things in the almost darkness of the flickering camp-fire.

The lighter felt real and solid in Fraser's hand. His eyes went back to the drawer that contained his notebook.

"Turnbull, here are the matches you wanted," Fraser thrust them at Turnbull. He could barely contain his excitement.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to go on a short field trip? I can assure you the weather is supposed to be most remarkable and there is a rather rare constellation of stars to be seen tonight," Turnbull explained enthusiastically.

"No, I—" Fraser pulled at his collar. "I have a prior… engagement that I want to honor."

Turnbull thumbed his nose. "Say no more, sir. Some things shouldn't have to wait."

On sudden inspiration, Fraser added: "Might I advise you to ask Miss Vecchio if she would like to accompany you?" There was no need to let Renfield know that Francesca had offered to accompany Fraser to go star-gazing, but he thought she might enjoy herself if she gave Turnbull an honest chance.

The mention of Francesca had the desired effect.

"Oh, certainly—that is, if you think she would be interested in the fine art of reading our night sky," Turnbull's young face gleamed with earnestness.

"Yes, I'm quite sure. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Fraser vanished into his office again. From his closet he fetched an old iron box which he used to make fires in areas where an open fire would be dangerous, and gathered the notebook and the lighter in his jacket pockets.

"Coming, Dief?"

Dief sprang to his feet with his tongue lolling out.

The weather really was nice, but the wind was bitingly cold despite the sun. He had always found sunny winter days invigorating. The park was almost abandoned at this time of year. The sky looked endless and Fraser felt a savage satisfaction at the dead-looking trees around them.

He couldn't have borne to bury Ray in the summer, when everything would look full to the brim with life. No, Fraser thought it was only fair that nature should be just as dead for the occasion.

Fraser found a quiet spot and deposited the box. With a heavy heart, Fraser pulled the notebook out. It felt heavier than he remembered. Reverently, Fraser's fingers stroked over the leather one last time. His heart fluttered nervously as he ignited the lighter. The flame danced in the wind.

"...Ray," Fraser cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Ray, you... were the best man I've known… I'm… I'm proud to have called you my friend and I…I…" Fraser's voice wavered as he soldiered on. "I miss you, Ray... I miss you so much."

Fraser couldn't see the box or the notebook behind the veil of tears clouding his vision. He had felt empty for so long… he closed his eyes as the tears spilled over.

"…please come back…" Fraser whispered before he set the notebook aflame.

Dief's howling was profound and beautiful. Fraser's shoulders shook as he stood quietly weeping while the flames consumed everything that connected him to Ray. The black of the leather looked red, almost glowing, amidst the fire. The color of lifeblood, not blue at all. Although, in between, Fraser could make out glimpses of blue as the ink of his words was turned to ashes.

"I hope you were right about the story going on even as the book comes to an end, Ray," Fraser said quietly over the crackling fire.

When the fire died, Fraser sprinkled the ashes around the old tree underneath which he had sat countless times in the past.

Fraser tried hard not to think about his expectations. Because if it came right down to it then what could he expect to happen? It had been the last attempt in a long line of failed undertakings. After he had exhausted all reason, Fraser had followed his feelings. Because he couldn't help it. He couldn't help the hope. He couldn't help that his heart told him that Ray had not been a figment of his imagination.

He spent a rather sleepless night listening for—he had no idea what he was listening for. Something. Anything.

By morning, Fraser had an idea. It was the ultimate test. For better or worse it would show if burning the notebook had been the answer to the question that had driven him out of his mind with grief.

It was still early when Fraser entered the bullpen of the 27th police precinct. Francesca wasn't even at work yet and the Duck Boys weren't at their desks either. Fraser asked one of the civilian aids if he could use her computer.

She let him sit down at her station and ambled off in the direction of the break room. Fraser took a deep breath and typed in 'Ray Kowalski'. The second it took for the computer to look through the database lasted a lifetime. If there wasn't an entry now then—

1 Match found

Fraser's heart constricted. He licked his lips and slowly moved the cursor over the entry. Briefly, he closed his eyes before he clicked once with his index finger.

A file opened. There was a file for Ray Kowalski... Fraser felt weirdly surreal. But...

"Oh, dear God, no," Fraser intoned involuntarily. He read it again. 'Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Detective First Grade deceased.'

Almost against his will, Fraser looked at the date. Ray Kowalski had died almost a year ago, in the spring of the same year. The time when Ray Vecchio had left to work undercover. The time when Ray Kowalski had appeared in Fraser's life.

Fraser pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. So Ray was never supposed to exist... was he? Fraser remembered pulling his file after he had just met him. And now that same file said he had died at that time... Ray was dead.

He tried to find comfort in the fact that at least Ray was given a real life with this file. This entry showed that a man by that name had lived and died. Had loved and lost. God... after everything... this was almost as bad as losing him again.

Fraser had been an utter fool... he had hoped that Ray would come back if he burned the notebook. He knew that the mere idea was ridiculous and he hadn't allowed himself to speak it out loud... but the thought had been there anyway.

No, Ray had died. More than 9 months ago...

Fraser pushed away from the computer. He needed time to think. He needed to get away from here. Helplessly, Fraser looked back towards Ray Vecchio's old desk... but of course there was no old friend there to help him.

Fraser steeled himself and turned in the direction of the exit. Nothing, nothing was keeping him here.

"Ah, Constable. Just the man I've been meaning to talk to. A moment, please?" Lieutenant Welsh's baritone rumbled through the room. Inside, Fraser felt like pretending he didn't hear him. But his upbringing and the training at Depot wouldn't let him.

"Of course, sir," and Fraser couldn't help it if he sounded as tired as he felt. Welsh leaned against the doorframe leading to his office. He waved him in.

"You know how it is nowadays with projects and fundings and all the political pressure from above, right?"

Fraser tried to come up with an appropriate answer, but inside of his mind everything was blank. There were no words left.

"Sir?"

"Lately, international communication and information sharing are really big issues and people will spend loads of money to make security in this country look good. I've been thinking that Vecchio and you, you've been a real model of international partnership – not exactly a role model of police procedure, mind you, and certainly not a role model I want the rookies to follow, no offence—"

"None taken," Fraser assured monotonously. Yes, he knew the exact number that went along with the property Ray and he had destroyed over the course of their partnership – not to mention the variety of lawsuits and other complaints that had to be pacified with hard currency. He just didn't think he could feel any worse about this reminder than he already did.

"Long story short, I decided this station could do with a bit of good publicity so I presented our cross-border-liaison-program—and they went for it. The station actually gets funding to put up with the Canadians." Welsh's smile came as close to a grin as it ever would.

"I'm glad to hear it," Fraser answered as sincerely as he could. He did support this idea of shared international policing, but happiness was as far removed from what he felt as a polar bear from Timbuktu.

Welsh deflated visibly at Fraser's bland reaction. He looked vaguely uncomfortable. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not making what easy?"

"I'm offering you your old post as liaison officer– it worked for Vecchio and you and I'm willing to believe that it would work again."

"Lieutenant, I understand that such a program would draw a lot of publicity and I think an open evaluation of the possible candidates would be a fairer solution. After all, the sponsors of this program will want the most efficient candidate for this," Fraser explained stoically. He wasn't even sure if he could partner with anyone else at the moment. He needed all of his resources just to get by.

Welsh looked pained. "Fraser, it has already been approved for you," he admitted. "I'd like you to be our liaison—what do you say?"

Fraser rubbed a knuckle over his eyebrow. "This is... quite the honor," Fraser said slowly. He didn't have any good reason to say 'no,' did he? Didn't he owe it the citizens to work where he could do the most good? Although the mere thought of everyday life, of life going on as before, filled Fraser with hopelessness.

"It'll be a walk in the park," Welsh elaborated. "The guy who filled in for Vecchio, guy over at the 19th? He decided he was up for this kind of thing and asked to be transferred. Of course, it's not the same as with Vecchio, but he's a good cop and I'd like you to give him a fair shot."

Fraser found himself nodding. Not because he particularly wanted to, but because it might be easier to bear his current existence with just a hint of something to do.

"Yes, I think I might enjoy it," Fraser said hesitantly. Enjoy it? Was he even listening to himself? ...he didn't think it was fair to the other party in this arrangement. He was hardly able to work with someone as partners at the moment. "Lieutenant, you should know that I might not be the best person for this job at the moment. I'm sure there's someone—"

"You're the best man for this job, Fraser. The new guy pops in on Thursday. What do you say, come over and meet him at least?"

"Of—of course," Fraser answered without conscious thought. Sometimes he really wished he was better at saying 'no'.

By the time Fraser was back at the Consulate, his brain had finally caught up with the events of the day. It was even welcome to think about Welsh and his proposal instead of obsessing over Ray's file. So that was what he had burned the notebook for? To have Ray die twice? No, he couldn't allow himself to think like that. The file proved that Ray was real.

Hollow, it was a hollow achievement.

And the proposal... Fraser wasn't sure if he should feel better or worse that Lieutenant Welsh had gone out of his way to accommodate him. This could not be a coincidence— and Fraser hardly expected the Inspector to be surprised at the news. No, he should be grateful. They were all trying to help.

Going to the 27th precinct on Thursday still took a lot of conscious effort on Fraser's part. It wasn't that he had anything better to do; he just didn't feel up to the task. Maybe he could explain his current mental state... well, maybe better his current inability to partner with someone, to Vecchio's successor and Welsh could still find someone else without suffering any damage.

Welsh was still alone in his office when Fraser arrived and Fraser breathed a small sigh of relief. Before he could explain his situation again to the Lieutenant though, another officer knocked on the door.

"Lieutenant, we've got a dust-up in Interview 3, and there's a guy from the IRS that says he has to talk with you."

"The IRS? All right, listen, Fraser, the new guy should be here any minute. You just get to know each other and we can talk later."

Fraser was left alone in Welsh's office. Not for long though.

There was a knock on the door and a moment later it opened to admit the new Ray Vecchio.

"Listen, I know I'm late, but traffic was unbelievab—"

"Oh God," Fraser's legs wobbled underneath him as Ray closed the door behind him. With the same wild hair and apologetic smile he had always possessed.

"You're dead," Fraser said, shocked and confused, and this time his legs gave way as he tried to take a step in Ray's direction.

"Whoa!" In a flash, Ray was next to him. His arms came up as he caught Fraser in a hug. "Easy there, buddy," Ray soothed. "I told them the story about the car bomb was going too far. Jesus, you'd think I'm the most missed cop out there judging by the story they came up with as cover. Are you all right?"

Fraser took a few rushed breaths. "... you're back," and Fraser's tight grip on Ray's arm was proof that he was. "I missed you... you can't imagine..."

Ray smiled, bewildered. "Yeah, well, it's nice meeting you, too."

Fraser stumbled over the statement. "What do you mean— you know who I am... right?" Fraser's voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. Fear paralyzed him with inhuman strength.

"Sure," Ray said easily. "Everyone knows about you; I heard a lot of stories about you. No one said anything about good-looking, though," Ray winked.

Had Ray just said...? Fraser stared at the other man. The silence lasted and a blush rose slowly but surely over Ray's face. "Uh... so, I'm Ray... Kowalski," Ray smiled shyly.

Fraser's knees collapsed the rest of the way underneath him. It was Ray. And Ray didn't know him. Or this wasn't Ray... even though he looked exactly as Fraser had last seen him. All the way from the ball-chain bracelet on his wrist to the experimental hair... And he talked like Ray and...

"Carerful!" Ray exclaimed as his arms tightened around Fraser. Ray hadn't let go of him, not even for an instant, Fraser noticed in that detached way you sometimes saw yourself when something horrible was happening to you. Ray helped Fraser upright again and pushed him back a little, so that Fraser could rest his hip against the desk.

The look on his face was so Ray. Fraser even knew how that jumper felt underneath his hands. This had to be Ray...

"Gentlemen, sorry I've kept you waiting. Ah, Vecchio, good. I trust you've met Fraser?" The Lieutenant entered his office again.

Ray flicked another glance at Fraser - his gaze had hardly strayed from Fraser at all since he had come in. Ray looked thoughtful, but his reply came easily enough. "Yeah, we just introduced ourselves... in a manner of speaking."

"Good, good. Let's go over this..." Welsh sat down behind his desk and Fraser and Ray took the chairs opposite.

Fraser couldn't recall what they had talked about. Fraser supposed that Welsh had explained what he expected from them and he knew that Ray had asked a lot of questions... but Fraser couldn't recall a single one of them.

All he remembered was watching Ray— and he even moved like Ray! Fraser had thought when Ray had climbed gracefully, if a little unorthodoxly, into his chair. The way he gestured, the way he spoke... it was identical. And yet... yet...

"Fraser, you okay?" Ray asked, a hand on Fraser's back. Fraser wanted so badly to lean back into this simple touch. Warm, Ray's hand was warm. Alive. Real.

When had they left the office? Confused, Fraser looked around the bullpen.

"You seemed a little out of it for a moment— it's a bit much to take in, right?"

"Ray, what is your professional opinion on protective helmets when it comes to boxing?" It was the first thing that came to Fraser's mind. Ray must think he was unhinged... but he needed to know if this was his Ray... the Ray he had known and... loved.

Ray looked confused for a second before he laughed. "Protective helmets? Fraser, c'mon, you're not serious?"

"It would be a logical precaution."

"Boxing has nothing to do with logic. It is sport taken down to its purest nut. It is muscles, sweat, guts, torque, load—" Elation fought its way through Fraser's jungle of emotions.

"Hey, what did you mean with 'my professional opinion'?" Ray asked suddenly.

"It's, ah," Fraser rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow. Oh dear. "Your stance and the way you carry yourself made me assume you had a history of either boxing or dancing," he hedged. It wasn't a lie, not really.

Ray grinned. "Spot on. In both cases actually. You're really good at this, aren't you?"

"I think it's limited to your person," Fraser admitted.

"Wait, you're saying I'm that easy to read?"

"Something like that, yes," Fraser managed a smile.

Ray insisted that they grabbed something for lunch— falsely attributing Fraser's appalling condition when they had met to the need for some sustenance.

In between bites Fraser noticed Ray's gaze on him.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

Ray shook his head, bemused. "Nah, it's just— it's odd. You seem so damn familiar even though I am pretty sure that we haven't met before. Stupid, right? You probably just remind me of someone."

Fraser had to take a hasty drink from his water to save himself an embarrassing remark. Yes, he thought. You are reminded of me... and hope flared bright and strong inside of Fraser like the Aurora Borealis over the northern sky.

That night, as Fraser lay on his cot, his longing for Ray was of a different kind. Sighing, he turned on his back and stared at the dark ceiling. There was no doubt that the man he had met today was the same Ray he had known for almost a year. The mannerisms, the body language, the smile, it was all Ray.

Throughout the evening, Fraser had to battle the urge to wrap Ray in a hug, to pull him close, and capture his lips. Of course he couldn't... not when Ray thought this was the first time they had met. But... god... he wouldn't go as far as saying that his longing was worse now, but... Ray was back... and in a way he was farther away than ever before. Just to hold him again...

Fraser turned onto his side. Ray was alive. The ensuing smile almost broke his face. Ray was back in his life. They would work along side each other just as they had before. Tomorrow, there was a tomorrow in which Ray existed.

And Fraser still didn't understand. It was Ray— the Ray he knew - of that he was sure. He even remembered all of the things that had made up his life before he had died... or was it vanished? The boxing, the dancing, the career as a police officer...

Had Ray died? Without a body - and without anyone besides him believing in his existence - it was difficult to claim that Ray had lived and by extension died.

...but where had he come back from then? This time he definitely wasn't just a part of Fraser's imagination - people talked to him, greeted him in hallways, and asked Fraser about him. But he couldn't have imagined Ray that first time... there was no way... so maybe it had all been the notebook. Maybe he would never find out. Fraser sighed. If a crazy man declared himself sane then what was that worth?

Over the course of the next few days Fraser noticed – because he noticed everything about Ray— that Ray always walked very close to him, surprisingly close even, and Ray didn't seem to notice it himself. Just as he didn't appear to notice that he touched Fraser quite frequently. Ray moved and touched... the way he had after they had become intimate.

As if... no, it was silly to assume that Ray remembered their relationship on some subconscious level, wasn't it? Fraser just couldn't seem to figure out whether this was the same Ray _again _or if this was actually their first meeting, and whatever Fraser remembered had been nothing but a very vivid fantasy.

But he was _Ray_ and that somehow always confused Fraser's thoughts because it made it harder to keep Ray apart from his memories. One night, without thinking, Fraser asked "What happened to Stella?" They had been on a stakeout for ages and the question had suddenly burned on Fraser's lips.

Next to him, Ray gave a start.

"You pulled my file, right? Gee, you're one nosy-parker, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Fraser backtracked immediately. Stupid! It was so hard not to think about all the things Ray didn't know. "I didn't mean to pry," Fraser explained softly.

"No, don't apologize. It's okay." Ray's hand arranged his hair in even more disarray. "They needed someone from the law department for the Vecchio gig in Vegas. So now all the mob guys think she's doing the dirty work for him."

"And you are okay with that?"

"I went ballistic when she first told me," Ray grinned. "But she's a big girl and we kind of went our own ways a long time ago... besides, she just has to meet with Vecchio to exchange files. She doesn't even have to make them believe that she's bought— that's his job and I trust Vecchio not to botch it. Since he's still alive he can't be that bad at the job," Ray winked.

Something in Fraser eased; something that had felt tight and wired all this time. This wasn't Ray as he had met him when he was investigating those fires. This was Ray much later... maybe even late enough to consider... him? Was it possible? Could Ray fall in love with him again? What if Ray couldn't because he didn't possess the same memories he had that first time? What if Ray couldn't see in him what he had seen last time?

"Uhm... Fraser? Our shift's almost over and, well, you look like you could use a coffee and a spot to put your feet up a little. What do you say: wanna come back to my place?"

Surprised, Fraser turned to look at Ray. Some of the things Ray said sounded like—like an offer of something else.

Ray cringed. "Not like—" He flushed. "That came out wrong," Ray waved dismissively. "Anyway, you, uh, up for a coffee?"

"I would prefer tea, but I'd take a coffee as well," Fraser smiled. Ray was... was Ray flirting? It seemed as if he was trying not to. Fraser knew Ray inside out, better than anyone else. He had never read Ray wrong, but... Ray seemed to do a lot of things quite unconsciously this time around.

"Greatness." Fraser's heart skipped a beat.

When Ray pulled up at the familiar apartment complex Fraser had to employ every ounce of self-control not to shout "oh, you have got to be kidding me." Fraser followed Ray up the stairs as he had done countless times before. Ray opened the door to let them in and the well-known clutter of Ray's apartment greeted him.

Nothing had changed. Fraser would even swear that the coffee stain on the classic car magazine was the same he had known. And now the landlady would probably tell him that Ray had moved in about a year ago – when he had supposedly taken over Vecchio's job.

No, logic had nothing to do with Ray.

Ray bustled around the kitchen and half-vanished in one of his cupboards. "Hey, what do you know, I got tea... but it's some weird bark stuff— I have no idea how that ended up in my kitchen."

Fraser was on his feet and moving before he knew it. "Show me," he demanded and Ray handed him the offending box of tea with a shrug. This was—this was the tea Fraser had stored at Ray's apartment.

"I—" his mouth was suddenly dry. "I'd like the tea, please."

"Freak," Ray shook his head affectionately.

Fraser's "understood" remained unheard, there was barely any voice behind it. Fraser had the disconcerting feeling of two realities overlapping. What else did Ray share with Fraser's memories that Ray wasn't even aware of?

While the water was boiling, Ray rubbed tiredly at his temples.

"Do you have a headache?" Fraser asked gently.

"It's nothing. It's been there for the last two hours and it'll be fine when I can get some sleep," Ray mumbled distractedly, looking inside of the water tank of the coffee machine to see if it was already brewing his coffee.

"You should really wear your glasses. It would save you a lot of pain," Fraser said automatically. If he'd said it once he'd said it a thousand times.

Ray stared at him. "How do you know about my dorky glasses?"

Fraser swallowed a curse.

"I noticed that you squint a lot– even more so when it gets dark. And the headache would explain the reason for that, poor eyesight." Again, it wasn't a lie. Just that this time around he didn't need to rely on deductions based on Ray's behavior.

"Huh... I was sure you wouldn't notice," Ray admitted, a little embarrassed.

"I assure you there's no reason to be embarrassed about wearing glasses."

"You haven't seen mine," Ray smirked.

I have, Fraser thought with a smile. "I'm sure you look very fetching."

Ray snorted derisively. "Yeah..." he muttered. "Scrawny guy like me with experimental hair _and _the geek glasses to top it off, terrific."

Fraser took a deep breath. "I find you very attractive." There, it was out.

Silence reigned and Fraser feared that he might have been too straightforward with his admission.

"Same here," Ray added quickly before he began fiddling with mugs and spoons, busying himself with getting sugar and sniffing the milk. "You want milk with your tea?" Ray asked, a little too fast.

"I—" Fraser started to say, confused.

"You know, once, I forgot about the milk in the fridge for almost a month— boy, you could've thought I was trying to grow something in there," Ray rambled, still pulling open cupboards and drawers. Ray couldn't need that many attempts to find the necessary items to serve coffee and tea, could he?

"That's—that's disgusting," Fraser said with a frown. Why was Ray trying to change the subject? Maybe Ray was uncomfortable with discussing this. Maybe it was too fast for him. Fraser tried to calm himself. But Ray had admitted that he found him attractive. And as Ray had told him once, mutual attraction was a good starting point. Fraser pulled himself together.

"Ray, sit down." Fraser pulled out a kitchen chair and pushed Ray into it. "You're still suffering from a headache and I know something that will help." Without saying another word, Fraser moved behind Ray and pulled Ray's head back so that it rested against Fraser's stomach.

"What are you doing?" Ray asked, but he didn't sound terribly concerned.

Instead of replying, Fraser's fingers found their way to Ray's nape. Slowly, Fraser's fingers dug into the tense muscles.

Ray groaned. Fraser couldn't help the following lip-lick. This wasn't selfish, he was helping Ray... it wasn't _just_ selfish at least.

With a deft touch, Fraser's fingers continued to knead Ray's shoulders, his neck, his temples.

"God," Ray moaned, "you're really good at this."

"I know you, Ray," Fraser murmured.

Ray nodded along. "Yeah, that you do..."

Fraser lost all sense of time. He had done this for Ray a few times... but it was the first time since he had come back that Fraser could touch Ray in any meaningful way. Feeling Ray's hair underneath his hands felt like that first time, when he had pulled Ray close for a kiss.

Suddenly, the coffee machine spit and hissed and ended with a satisfied gurgle and Ray's eyes flew open. "Oh. My coffee," Ray mumbled, a little dazed.

Sheepishly, Ray threw a glance at his water boiler. "I guess that's not hot enough for tea anymore, sorry... I was kinda distracted."

Fraser could still feel the bristle of Ray's hair against the pads of his fingers. God, he missed Ray's physicality.

Fraser stepped next to Ray to feel the temperature of the boiler. Ray didn't move away and for a second Fraser revelled in the feeling of Ray's body pressed next to his.

"It's still hot. There are actually different theories on whether the water should boil for tea or not." Fraser poured himself a cup.

He concentrated on the steeping tea. If he watched Ray any longer with his dishevelled appearance and the tired smile he might do something foolish.

Ray blew on his coffee, and then stopped to add a few M&Ms. From the corner of his eye, Fraser could see that Ray was frowning into his mug.

"Do you miss Vecchio?" Ray asked all of a sudden. The moment the words left his lips, Ray winced.

Surprised, Fraser forgot that he didn't want to look at Ray. "Why do you ask?"

Ray shrugged uncomfortably. "Sometimes you look... I dunno... sad, I guess."

Perceptive. Fraser had forgotten that about Ray.

"Sorry... it's none of my business. I mean, you've known me for what? Three weeks? Sometimes my mouth just runs away with me," Ray offered an apologetic grin.

Yes, usually when you're nervous, Fraser thought. Why was Ray nervous? Fraser tried not to read too much into Ray's actions.

"No, Ray. You are my friend. And my partner," The last word left an odd taste in his mouth. The partnership he'd had with Ray _had _been of a different kind... and yet it was still the truth. For Fraser, nothing had changed.

Ray looked stunned. "Was that hard to say?"

Fraser smiled. "No, not at all." Especially not compared to all the other things he wanted to tell Ray but couldn't. "And as such you have every right to ask. Yes, I miss Ray Vecchio. He is my friend and I am concerned for his safety. But he is a very able police officer and as such he has a duty to the public to fulfill and our friendship is not compromised by the miles between us." Fraser had long since understood that his friend had had no choice. He had long forgiven Ray Vecchio for leaving him. They would meet again at some point, Fraser was sure of it.

Ray didn't look particularly happy about Fraser's explanation. "I know you guys were tight –"

"Ray."

"...and maybe you wouldn't have chosen me for a substitute partner,"

"Ray."

"...but here I am and—"

"Ray!"

"What?"

"People are not interchangeable, like snowmobile parts. I don't want you to be Ray Vecchio."

"Huh...no, obviously not. You're right," Ray answered instantaneously. But the relaxed smile showed that Ray was glad to hear it all the same. "Uh, you want another cup of that twig stuff?"

"No, thank you. I should head back to the Consulate."

"You could stay—I mean, I got a couch you could crash on."

Fraser looked at the couch and judged the distance from the couch to Ray's bedroom (13 1/2 feet). Not far enough. As much as Fraser would've preferred to forego the walk back to the Consulate, trusting himself to sleep just a few feet away from Ray was not something he wanted to vouch for.

"Thank you kindly for the hospitality, but I think a walk will do me good."

"Whatever floats your boat," Ray shrugged easily.

Too bad Diefenbaker had preferred to sample Turnbull's cooking instead of accompanying Ray and him on the stakeout. Because Fraser had the nagging feeling that Ray was, well, _already interested_ would probably be the best expression. Or maybe he was just insecure. Fraser would have liked to hear Dief's opinion on it.

God... Fraser tugged at his earlobe. He knew Ray better than anyone, and he thought he knew every facial expression on that handsome face. So why was it so hard to be sure of what he saw?

A few days later, they were sitting in Ray's car, waiting for their suspect to show up. A well-known country singer had been getting death threats and while most of these kinds of letters turned out to be harmless it was their duty to keep an eye out and to take preventive measures if necessary.

Fraser had been trying to come up with a way to talk to Ray about being... well... open-minded, really. Because, thinking back, Fraser had come to the conlusion that it would have been much easier for him and Ray had they both known that the other was open in his choice of romantic partners.

He did try to broach the subject as smoothly as he could. He feared that Ray might not take kindly to it if Fraser asked him outright. So Fraser tried to find a way to do it diplomatically.

"Ray, what comes to your mind when I say 'closet'?"

"What kinda question is that?" Ray spluttered.

Upon reflection, Fraser thought that he might have to practice his smooth-approach if Ray's reaction was anything to go by.

"It's nothing untoward. It's just that if I say 'closet' one person might say brooms and another person might say carpentry. And some people might say—"

"Yeah, I know what some people would say, Frase. So why are you asking me this? Something you wanna tell me?" Ray challenged with an edge to his voice that, while not being unfriendly also wasn't very encouraging, and fixed Fraser with an intense look.

Fraser tugged at his collar. He could still opt for the explanation that this had been a simple word-association-game. But what would be won with that? "I, ah, I have never assigned myself a label _per se_... I just think that it is the wrong approach to choose a gender instead of a person," Fraser finished quietly.

Ray was silent for a moment, but his eyes never left Fraser's. Finally, he answered. "Yeah, I'm kind of a wild card myself. I play by my own rules. And the people who don't like it can bore someone else with their opinion."

Fraser smiled shyly. "Would you—"

"Unit 1-1-7, are you there guys?" Huey's deep baritone came over the radio.

Ray groaned quietly and somehow that made Fraser feel better.

"Yeah, where else would we be?"

Jack laughed dryly. "Carver Dunn is headed your way."

"Got it."

Carver Dunn was also quite athletic for a man of his unassuming stature, Fraser thought as he followed the suspect up a fire escape. He could dimly hear Ray's footsteps below, hitting the concrete in a rapid pattern as Ray ran along the length of the building.

With dismay, Fraser saw that the fire escape door at the end of the building stood ajar— a clear violation of fire regulations. Dunn threw him a sardonic smile as the door fell into the lock behind him.

Fraser surveyed the roof. He would need to find another way down. He looked down the side of the building into the alley below. There was a metal railing leading from one building to the one opposite. And a little further along and down was another one. His last experience with gymnastic exercise was a while back, but it should still be sufficient. This should prove a remarkably efficient way to get down.

He judged the angle and jumped down. With a sure grip his hands closed around the railing and his body swung once around the axis. He let go and reached effortlessly for the next bar. He was about to complete the jump down into the street when he heard the revving of an engine down below. And running footsteps. Oh dear.

Fraser looked down and not a second too late. Ray was just running in his direction - closely followed by an old Mustang. Fraser reached down and gripped Ray by his coat and then he pulled. With effort, he pulled Ray up, far enough that the car could pass underneath and leave him unharmed.

Almost as quickly as he had snatched Ray, his grip loosened again. "I'm sorry," Fraser gasped. Ray dropped to the ground with a pained "oof" and Fraser followed him almost immediately. The pain pressed all of the air out of his lungs. "Ow." The hurt was unexpectedly bright.

Next to him, Ray was wheezing. "Damnit, Fraser, if you were gonna drop a guy, you gotta say something first, like, 'Ray, I'm gonna drop ya'."

"Well, I'll be sure to keep it in mind for next time," Fraser answered a little breathlessly.

"You don't sound so good," Ray remarked with a frown and gingerly pushed himself into an upright position.

"Ah, I might have bruised a rib."

Without waiting for an answer, Ray's warm hands were working on the fastenings of Fraser's serge. As if he knew exactly how to get Fraser out of it, Fraser realized with a start. No, Ray couldn't have been a vivid hallucination that first time. Why should a hallucination possess flesh memory? Ray _knew _because he had made it his hobby to get Fraser out of the uniform.

Warm, strong fingers examined Fraser'r ribs. "I don't think you broke any," Ray said, relieved.

"I didn't say I broke any," Fraser reminded Ray, but his gaze was still fixed on Ray's fingers splayed on his chest.

Ray grinned. "Fraser, you could have a knife through your leg and you would call it a scratch. C'mon," Ray offered him a hand to help him up. They stood in the alley, hurting and dirty, and holding hands for much longer than was strictly necessary. But Ray made no move to let go.

The only relief was that Huey and Dewey managed to apprehend the car in which their fugitive had tried to flee. Still, it was awfully late when they were finished with the report. The station was almost deserted, save for an old man from the cleaning staff.

Ray leaned back in his chair with a satisfied groan. "All done."

"Yes, it seems that way," Fraser agreed with a smile. He leaned forward to push away from the table, wincing as his bruised rib was squeezed.

"That's it, you made a face. You're coming with me," Ray declared decisively.

"Ray, I assure you that won't be necessary," Fraser tried to protest— but weakly. He wanted nothing more than to have Ray's company for a little while longer, and maybe enjoy for another hour that Ray was taking care of him.

"Necessary or not, that's where we're going. And since you are in no condition to walk all the way you will have to stick with the direction my car is going— home."

"If you insist," Fraser answered agreeably.

Back at Ray's place, Fraser gratefully took a seat on the couch. Ray had been looking at him almost constantly, flicking glances at him throughout the drive. Fraser wondered if it meant anything more than simple concern.

"I'm still a bit wired, what about you? You tired?"

Fraser shook his head; he didn't want to miss out on spending more time with Ray. Especially alone with Ray at home, away from work and polite company. Ray always seemed a lot more relaxed in the safety of his own four walls.

"Are you up for a game of cards? I could teach you poker," Ray offered.

"I don't gamble," Fraser explained.

"Yeah, but poker is kinda pointless without a wager."

"So what's the ante?"

Ray rubbed a hand over his neck. "I don't know, we'll uh...play for air," Ray offered, eyes carefully fixed on the cards he was shuffling in his agile hands.

Fraser grabbed for air and made a gesture of throwing it on the table. "All right, ante is in."

Ray grinned at him.

Fraser was rather enjoying himself. "I'll see your fifty and I call," he announced.

Ray's eyes narrowed. "What do you have?" Ray leaned forward to have a look at Fraser's cards.

"Crowded home."

"House," Ray replied weakly.

"Crowded house," Fraser repeated dutifully, trying to be a model student. He wondered if he should've told Ray that he had played once or twice. But Ray had been so eager to teach him... and win, Fraser smiled to himself. Maybe he should've let Ray win. He was a good teacher after all.

"Full house," Ray croaked, defeated. "I'm all out of air," Ray sighed. He appeared terribly disappointed and Fraser wondered what Ray would've wanted with the air he would've won.

"I accept an I.O.U.," Fraser said, in an effort to cheer him up.

"An I.O.U. on air?" Ray seemed to consider that.

"I want you to honor your wager."

Ray thought for a moment and then he nodded. A smile, with a touch of mischief, bloomed on Ray's lips.

"Hey, don't you wanna get a little more comfortable? All those buckles and snaps can't be good for your rib."

"Ah, yes, it might be a good idea to take the serge off," Fraser agreed. But even as he answered Fraser couldn't help getting suspicious. It had always been Ray's favorite argument... and usually Fraser ended with a lot less clothes than just his serge. But he was willing to play along. More than willing if he was honest.

Fraser tried not to flinch as Ray helped him to get his uniform off. But Ray saw it nonetheless - Ray seemed to be paying him a lot of attention today. Ray had been watching him a lot lately, come to think of it. Probably since he had told Ray that he found him attractive. Things started to fall into place faster than Fraser could keep track of them.

"You look like you could use that air," Ray murmured, no more than a couple of inches away from him. Fraser did a double-take. He stared at Ray, who was still busy opening the Velcro snaps.

"Yes..." Fraser said quietly.

Ray looked at him then and Fraser could see the beginning of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Well, how do you propose I give you the air back that I owe you?"

And it wasn't just Fraser's imagination that Ray had been looking at his lips when he said it, was it? Oh please, don't let me have read this the wrong way, Fraser prayed.

Fraser's lip came out to flick over his suddenly dry lips. "There's a—a standard procedure... buddy-breathing..." Fraser murmured, heart hammering in his chest.

"Good idea..." Ray nodded with a smile. "I think I know how that works," Ray breathed before he kissed Fraser.

Fraser held Ray tightly, almost crushing Ray to him, and trying to get as much contact as possible. Ray felt real and alive - and just like he always had. Fraser refused to believe that he had that good an imagination. But Ray's tongue and the little, quiet, needy noises that escaped his throat rapidly drove any philosophical thought out of Fraser's mind.

The déjà vu was so strong, waking up in Ray's bed the next morning, that Fraser was afraid for a moment that he was still sleeping. He reached out and found Ray's hand warm and pliant under his own. When Ray opened his eyes and smiled softly when he caught sight of him, Fraser decided to trust reality. No dream could've conjured such a stream of emotions - happiness, disbelief, hesitation, fear, and most of all, love.

They went to work and Ray could barely contain his grin at Fraser's dazed expression. Fraser just wanted to make sure that he wasn't the only one aware of Ray. And he couldn't very well just reach out to touch Ray's hand every five minutes. Although, Fraser had to admit, he was thinking rather obsessively about kissing Ray all day - now that he could kiss him again there seemed no reason why he shouldn't think about it.

Ray just smiled knowingly every time it happened - a fact that gave Detective Dewey quite a fright. He apparently hadn't met Ray in a lot of cheerful moods so far.

The time until they could go for lunch passed in a mere parody of any form of progress. Finally, they could take a break a little while after 2 PM.

"Oh, wait, I forgot my wallet in my desk," Ray went back and pulled his drawer open. He started when he looked inside. When Ray came back he was carrying a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

"Here, someone left this for you - ages ago actually. I always kept forgetting about it."

Fraser took the proferred package with a curious look. It wasn't too heavy and about mid-sized. The brown wrapping was unadorned and there was no sender discernible save for one little stamp with the initials 'T.W.'

Fraser's heart jumped into his throat when he noticed it. He tore the paper away with a little less care than was his wont.

He almost dropped it when he saw what it was.

It was his notebook. The notebook he had burned. Only, this one was red... the way it had looked in the flames. Fraser stared at it, too afraid to open it.

Ray looked at him with a thoughtful expression.

"Ray, who gave this to you?" Fraser had trouble keeping his voice even.

Ray opened his mouth to reply, but closed it halfway again with a puzzled frown. "No idea... weird. I can't remember getting it. But I know it was with my stuff when I took over my old desk," Ray gestured to Vecchio's work station. "Someone must've given it to me. I mean, I remembered that it was meant for you, you think I would remember how I ended up with it..." Ray frowned again.

So, according to Ray, it existed since Fraser had burned it, from the moment Ray had appeared for real.

Fraser took a calming breath and opened the notebook. It was all there. Every word he had written. Fascinated, he turned to the last page. It was the same as he remembered it... save for two little words. There, at the bottom of the page, were two words in Ray's unmistakable scrawl: The End.

"Everything alright?" Ray asked with a concerned look.

"Yes, Ray. Everything is alright..."

They were almost out of the station when Fraser thought of something. It wasn't an explanation, but it was the best he could do.

"Ray, do you believe that a story can come true?"

Ray shrugged and then he smiled. "Sure, why not. Isn't that what people always say 'the story of my life' and all that? Besides, the way I see it some of the books are more believable than being your partner. Really, the stuff one has to put up with just to be with you..."

Ray laughed and slung his arm over Fraser's shoulder.

Yes, Fraser thought. Maybe life was just another story. And maybe his life had lacked Ray so Fraser had simply written him into it.

Stories, he mused, were never about actually being true. The only question was, whether or not you believed them. Fraser looked to his side at Ray's smile and knew that he would believe in Ray - no matter what.

**Epilogue**

"This is all you've got?" Ray frowned at the knapsack at his feet and the box of camping utensils next to it.

"Well, I didn't have that much space to store personal belongings," Fraser explained with an eyebrow-rub.

Ray looked around Fraser's office at the Consulate. "Not much space," Ray echoed. "You're the master of the understatement, Frase. Okay, let's go then."

Dief yipped and carried his bowl outside to Ray's car. Fraser hoisted the knapsack and Ray bent and picked up the cardboard box. Ray frowned again at the ample space still left in the trunk of his car. Fraser suppressed a smile. He was pretty sure that Ray considered it an affront against the American way of life to live as lightly as he had.

"What do you want for your celebration-dinner?"

"Celebration? I'm sorry, I don't—"

"C'mon, buddy. Get in the spirit… you're insulting my skills as a roommate here. When was the last time you moved in with someone?"

"Ah, well... other than my office?"

"You betcha."

"Oh. Probably when I went to Depot," Fraser answered after a little consideration.

"See? So we gotta celebrate this. There was only one other person I ever lived together with so this is kind of a big deal, okay?"

Fraser smiled. "It is for me, too."

"So, what's it gonna be for dinner?"

Fraser looked at Ray and tried to keep his smile in check. "Is pizza a suitable food for celebrations?"

"Great choice. Couldn't have picked better myself."

Fraser turned to look out of the window. Otherwise he would've given himself away.

A couple of minutes later, Ray parked the car in front of Tony's pizza parlor.

"I'll be back in two seconds," Ray promised before he got out of the car.

"He's a good man, the Yank."

"Dear Lord," Fraser exclaimed in surprise.

"I should've known it would end this way when it was all but impossible to talk with you about grandchildren."

"Dad! What are you doing here?" Months. His dad hadn't appeared for months and he picked now to lecture Fraser?

"Giving you advice for the most crucial state in your relationship, of course," Bob elaborated as if it had been obvious. "Don't underestimate living together, son. Your mother was not an easy woman to live with—"

"How would you know? You spent most of the nights outside with the dogs," Fraser said, exasperated.

"Exactly what I'm talking about."

"Where have you been all this time? I haven't seen you for ages—you didn't even tell me that you moved your office." And if there was a touch of hurt in Fraser's voice then it didn't mean anything.

"Now don't be selfish, son. I can't spend all of my time being dead informing you of my activities. After all, a cabin isn't built in a day, and I could hardly invite your mother to live with me in an office, now could I?"

"My mother?" Fraser asked hesitantly.

"Of course your mother. Ever since I heard the rumors about Muldoon up North I knew that retribution was only a short step away."

"You could have told me about Muldoon—you could have told me what you knew."

"It wasn't my place to tell you. Besides, you were so busy with the Yank that it was all but impossible to get through to you at all."

Fraser was surprised. He hadn't thought that his own preoccupation might have prevented his father from showing up.

"And what happened to your office?"

"Your mother—you know how women are... oh. Well, I guess you don't. My fault. Your mother didn't want me to spend all of my time working. So I moved all of my paperwork to our new cabin."

"So you—are you happy?" Fraser asked.

"Well, you know how it is with men and women— oh, I suppose you don't. Let me just say that—"

"Who are you talking to?" Ray asked as he climbed into the driver's seat. Bob's eyes widened as Ray almost sat down on him. Ray made a face as if he had just touched something wet, but the next moment Bob was gone.

"Ah, nothing. I was just talking with Dief."

Ray nodded amicably.

"So, Dief, are you one happy wolf?"

Dief yipped again in the backseat.

"Greatness."

Ray leaned over to press his lips to Fraser's. "Me, too," he murmured before he claimed Fraser's lips.

Happiness. Fraser tested the word on his tongue. He found that he liked it. 

**T.H.E. E.N.D.**

****_A magician never reveals his trick and an author rarely reveals his source, but if you were to find this story on a bookshelf you'd find it right next to Salvador Plascencia's "People of Paper", Paul Auster's "New York Trilogy", and a heap of books about the double in literature 3_


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